Unwanted Blessings
by Tallianna Sulbane
Summary: Was it truly a blessing to be endless? Serana, after awakening to a world she doesn't know, is taken under the wing of a mysterious woman who seems to be hunted by several powerful players in this new Skyrim. Set in a time after Alduin's fall, the province is recovering from the dragon's reign only to be thrown back into civil war. Serana and Female DragonBorn.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Searching**

Moonlight tipped its pale beauty across the still, dark landscape. Somewhere in the fringe of distant trees an owl screeched, a sabre cat growled warning to its clumsy cubs, and a lone wolf sang out its melancholy. It was a gloriously haunting night, all things apart from her. Her loneliness so heavy it was almost a taste on the crisp, cool air.

There, atop a grey, lichen smothered boulder, she sat. The imortal woman with eyes of molten copper, skin like pearls, and stagnant blood, stilled by an unbeating heart. Wistfully, she lifted pale fingers, letting the night's gentle breeze weave it's delicate way between.

She thought, as much to her own mind's absence as to any dedicated effort of contemplation, of how some things, some truly precious things seemed blissfully timeless. That such things, like the nightly chill, the habitual, short lives of animals, and the feel of starlight on her skin remained, where all else familiar and solid seemed to have melted away in the face of countless passing years.

Melancholy lapped at her shins. A constant, damp presence, one that made her steps heavy. From time to time it swelled and rose like a listless tide, swallowing that little bit more of her spirit.

Endless. Was it truly a blessing to be endless?

With a heaving sigh that seemed to shift her ribs in her chest, Serana Volkihar lowered her fingers to rest once more on the stone. She shifted her sight to the glow of torchlight, warm and welcoming, the small shadows of activity murmuring echoes of life upon the clear plains. She was watching the city for a particular ripple.

Most would be sleeping at this hour. She could see guards, walking back and forth across battlements and the gates, watching for the unknown surprise threat that might come to beat at the gates of their home this night. Among the figures on the walls, and those at the sequential lower gates that she could see, illuminated by pulsing braziers, there was a Khajit. A single guard watching over a collective of colourful tents, a caravan no doubt, though Serana puzzled as to why they were not allowed to seek safety within the city. But that was all the trivial momentary wanderings of her distracted gaze.

No. Soon she would come. That great pacifier of a notion. Not yet, not in a undetermined time in the distant future, but soon, living in the moment just beyond the next.

Serana was aware of the gates opening. She watched, stretching her pale neck just a little, as a woman, cloaked in a raiment of deep green, a pale dress of washed out blue peeking out from underneath, stepped out from the deep shadows. She could see little detail from her boulder, the distance between it and the city too vast for her eyes. Only the shapes of colour and delicate gate of her walk. With a shivering eagerness, the silent ghost of her dead heart saw fit to set the echo of its beat just a little faster. Few had left the city since the beginning of her vigil, but maybe, maybe this was her.

The figure descended the sloping path from the main gates at a steady pace, stopping briefly to pass a handful of words with the Khajit guard, but in no great hurry to proceed quickly.

The urge to stand, to descend from her perch and move just that little bit nearer, came close to maddening her. It would have been foolish of course, to make her presence known without first confirmation that the figure was who she hoped it to be. She was too old to be that foolish. She should have been at least, if her parents' lectures were to be believed.

The shrouded woman passed by the last vestiges of man crafted structure that surrounded the palisade city, slipping into the silvery palette of the moon lit plains. She left the road once firmly out of the sights and memories of the watchmen at their posts, turning roughly to where Serana sat. Through hollow and over hill she walked, picking her way with noticeable familiarity across the rocky earth. At one moment she stopped, seeming to peer around the lunar lit landscape, searching.

At this moment Serana discarded her cautious neutrality, and stood waving a hand high above her head so she might be noticed, her pale skin shining like a beacon in the black and grey landscape around her. If this woman was not who she thought then she could dispatch her with little difficulty, should events turn to violence.

The woman saw her and returned the familiar gesture, though perhaps with stunted enthusiasm, adjusting her path to meet the foot of Serana's rock formation. At fifty yards, the features of her body and her face became clear, and Serana relaxed her tensions, recognition soothing her concerns.

She slid from her perch just as the woman reached the stone, slipping to the ground before her, a little dust picked up and clouding briefly in the darkness.

The cowl of forest green was pulled down by lightly tanned hands, crisscrossed with small scars, and dark curls tumbled forwards, framing a face of delicate feminine countenance and, at the same time, premature sobriety. Beneath dark angular brows, grey eyes looked upon Serana with curious, well settled surprise.

"I must be honest, I did not really expect it to be you waiting out here." The woman said, her voice quiet, not quite welcoming but neither carrying the bite of immediate disapproval. Purposefully it seemed balanced in preparation listen, and to then to mark approval on Serana's actions.

Serana held no such doubts. She was cheered at the site of the woman, more so than she had any sensible right to be, and gave a smile that she hoped conveyed her pleasure. "It is good to see you again." She confessed openly.

The woman refused her easy cheer. "You have put yourself in danger by straying so far from you kin Serana. Few in Whiterun would hesitate to attack a vampire if they knew one was so close to their city." Still, she spoke without defined emotion, though upon her carefully constructed features she let slip an almost imperceptible dip of her brows. A little frown, marred the constructed peace of her features.

"I needed to see you." Serana begged silently that she could make her voice convey the deep truth of her words. She wanted to infect the woman before her with her own joy, and drive away the mask that shadowed her face. Freeing her, she hoped, to return her sentiment.

"Home…" Serana hesitated, feeling the empty ache within her that longed for the ideal behind the word, one that she knew she'd likely never feel in her father's presence again. "…it was not what I'd hoped for. My father has not changed, and I needed to escape before he could set his hands upon the elder scroll. I needed to find you.".

The stoic front melted away. In a gesture of warmth Serana had not known for many waking decades, the woman stepped closer and wrapped her warm hands around Serana's, holding them firmly. "I'm so sorry Serana." She said, and Serana believed her.

Her hands were lightly calloused. Serana could feel the worn smoothness of them won from practiced and repeated actions, against her own unmarred, unnatural skin. The gentle heat of the contact spread soothingly up her arms to her chest, warming her against the chill she had not realised had settled into her bones in ages past. "Thank you."

The words fell between the two women, breaking the last hold of the mask.

A soft, gentle smile, as precious and beautiful as frost under starlight, spread across the woman's face, and she gave Serana's clasped hands a comforting squeeze. "I had an inkling I would see you again" She offered lightly, and with winning warmth. "That you found your way to me is impressive. How did you manage it? So much of Skyrim must have changed."

Dark truth lapped at the base of her tongue, bonded with her melancholy, threatening with eager delight to break the hard won happiness of this reunion she had longed for as soon as they had parted. She would do more harm if she did not tell her, and in all truth the woman may know of her watchers already. So, with reluctance, Serana explained her travels, but hid away the deaths. The woman need not know of the corpses in the fort.

* * *

If the guards thought it strange that a single, unarmed woman had left their city, then returned with a heavily shrouded stranger an hour later, they made no comment of it. Though, on closer passing inspection of their purposefully turned gazes, perfectly averted away from their approach, Serana surmised that perhaps they somehow knew it was best, in this case, not to ask.

What they knew, or how such knowledge had come to them, Serana could not be sure. Although she largely kept her head down and her molten copper eyes hidden below the edge of her heavy hood, on guarded occasion, in their ascension to the city gates, she risked a glance up to study the woman leading her.

A face with striking eyes, a sketch of a necklace, and an apparent fear at the sight of the costal fort. Those three separately innocuous things had allowed her to track her saviour down, all being mentioned in the dead elf's letter. But with that her knowledge of the woman withered.

No name had been given in their exchanges. Serana had offered her own, and it had been taken, and used pleasantly. However there had never seemed a moment to ask for the woman's. Not before her father's dominion had swept up before them, casting terminal shadow to their brief journey and companionship. When opportunity had become lost, vanishing with the woman's tumultuous exit from the castle, Serana had found herself longing in the space of the absence. The pit of her heart gaped open and she felt it's own absence more keenly than ever, when she realised that she'd had no means of finding the woman again.

Now, with the reaction of the guards, her father's reaction to the woman, and the letter, she knew, regardless of title or label, her saviour was someone of measurable power. At least within Whiterun, if not further beyond the hold.

The Imperial woman held herself with a grace that would earn, at least mild approval from Serana's mother. A feat few could hold claim to, and certainly no mortal had ever obtained since their collective 'ascension'. A certain air of softened nobility seemed to resonate in the woman's stride, a well-practiced, habitual command of softer, more gentle aspects of the unspoken language of the body.

The pair were admitted into the city without second glance, the pair of masked guards nodding at the woman, signalling that the heavy wood should be pulled back for them. Once they had stepped through, Serana making sure to keep her head down, the great slowly swinging gates were bolted and barred firmly behind them.

An invisible fist gripped Serana's neck, a swell of sudden tightness catching hold of her throat and squeezing, till her airways felt husky and parched. She stopped, and stood quite still for a long moment. Attempting to calm herself in the face of the press of the stone, pushing back the tide of her memories.

_Stone, all around her. Nothing but an inch of air. Dark. So dark she couldn't see. Her nose brushing the limit of her world. The sounds of her own screams causing her ears to bleed, the sound itself incapable of escaping it. Unable to move, to sit, or lie. Forced to stand till her muscles stiffened and her bones calcified into that rigid stance. Eternity, pressed inside a box and forgotten about. Crying out to a deaf, distant, uncaring world. She'd cried for a lifetime. _

A glance of concern with shimmering silver eyes. A touch, at first just a brush, then a presence as fingers were intertwined with her own. The tug on her stationary hand persuaded Serana's feet to once more take up their tarry. Her saviour led her onwards, walking this time close to her side.

"Are you alright?" She asked, her voice foggy and distant to her ears, leaning just close enough to Serana that her soft whisper could only be heard by the vampire.

With cobbled stone beneath her feet and the warmth of the woman at her side, Serana's mind clung onto its slipping sanity fervently. The darkness of the night provided little solace for her, the walls were still there, and she tried, she truly tried to bear it no mind.

She could see tightness in every corner. Suffocation in the stones. Closing air in the tapestry of wood and thatch. All too close, pressing against her. Her mind, her body…

Serana held great value in truth, and in this instance, she had no reason to lie. "I can't breathe." She replied, her skull swimming with heavy sound and movement as nausea took hold over panic and fought for supremacy. Pulse might be beyond her body now, but breath was still vital.

She swayed, though such things were beyond her own perception in her growing delirium. The woman at her arm encircled her waist, quickening their pace and making a lurching push to a door.

Then, in the next moment of Serana's clarity, there was no door, only a dark room, a lowly murmur of cinders in a fire pit, a single thrumming blossom of crimson amber, dying at it's centre.

She was alone. The warmth of the woman was gone. She felt the cold seep back through her limbs, coiling back to her bones. Traveling on a single, terrible breath, the icy absence of her cursed gift spread and scraped along her limbs, chilling her right down to her toes, a shiver ricocheting in its wake. Serana feared it would consume her, as it had done before, after the first lifetime of tears, and she would be lost to the endless depths of unwaking sleep again. The crush of immobile, looming walls pushing her tighter and tighter, till her bones splintered and her skull cracked. And her heart. Her dead, unbeating heart would give up its memory of life, its ghost pulse. And she would be forgotten in the well of her nightmares. Forgotten.

The shaft of pale moonlight that had followed their entry was shuttered, the last embers stuttering and dying in a final gust of air. The door swung shut upon the world and everything within fell into silence.

Seconds eked past where all was hauntingly still. Serana's knees began to shudder and shake as the waters of dread seeped into her joints. Coiling, thick, clear icy liquid, distilled from all the eons of utter absence, one year upon another, slipping into each other, becoming a great heaving mass that sucked her under its surface and pulled her down.

A body, smaller than her own, with fire in its flesh, caught her descent and held her up stubbornly. Strong arms looped under her own and dragged her through the darkness. She was heaved into a chair. Solid, the frame supported her shaking muscles. She melted into the simple comfort of sitting.

There was a spark in the darkness, beyond where the limit of the prison should be. Then a rustle and scratching of movement. Amber light flashed. Once, twice, each time illuminating a face, hard with concentration, eyes on the tinder heaped below the woman's shaking hands. On the third attempt the light caught and the spark became a flame, washing the room in flickering light.

With a sigh so heavy with relief the woman's shoulders lifted once free of its burden she coaxed the flame, breathing gently upon it, guiding up to take hold on the dry wood in the pit. The fire obeyed her commands, the light rose, alien warmth prickled the tips of Serana's toes.

Once seemingly satisfied that the fire would hold, the woman turned to her and was at her side in a moment. Concern made her face soft in the half glow, her lips slightly parted, her eyes shimmering reflectively. A feather light touch flitted across Serana's forehead as the woman assessed her attack.

"Look at my hand." She coaxed her as she had the flame, gently and with great care.

Serana found it a physical ache to follow the request, frightened that by drawing her gaze away from her face the wall might close back in. But she drew a long breath, closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again turned them reluctantly from the woman's face to her hand.

It was curled slightly, the skin creasing, casting curving shadows across a smooth palm. Slowly, so very slowly it began to sway. Like the dance of a reed on the banks of a languid river, back and forth it tipped, easing into a breathing rhythm.

She soon found her mind steadying to meet this carefully measured pattern. It calmed her. Neatly, it crafted around her a deep, encompassing, cushion of achingly sweet drowsiness. She was sure that she had been awake for too long. Certain that her worries had pressed upon her, wearing her so thin. Now this swell and roll of beckoning motion was pulling her back together, and laying her down low to a new sleep, free of the nightmares, true rest, watched over by an ever-present guide and guardian.

Her saviour let her hand drift softly to Serana's lap, where it wove its fingers around the barely conscious older woman's own.

"Are you better now?" She asked on the breath of a whisper, hushed and gentle, like the texture of Yellow Mountain petals caught under the rays of the setting sun. Accompanied by a dainty fleeting smile, it would have surely put any on looker at the most agreeable of eases.

A great heaving sigh, that felt it lifted Serana's very ribs, bid itself free of her, and she sank back further into the comfort of the chair. "Yes".

The haze thinned a little, and then came the irresistible itch of her ever-hungry curiosity. "What was that?" She asked, her voice low and melodic in its induced tranquillity.

The woman kneeling beside her drew tingling circles on the back of Serana's hand with her calloused thumb. A flash of keen intelligence sharpened in the watery depths of her pale eyes, a studious wealth of knowledge lay beneath, the extents of which seemed beyond Serana's fading understanding.

"It is a little complex," she explained. Her concern, now becoming familiar and always it seemed readily given to her, wrapped Serana in a soft blanket. "And I do not wish to tire you any further."

Serana squeezed her hand weakly and hoped the movement urged the woman to answer.

"Sweeping, calm motion," her saviour twice over began, "is a calming well known reflex of the body. When a mother rocks her child, it is the slow, controlled motion, along with the warmth and safety of the mother's arms that induces in the child sleep. What I used is a similar principle. When a person panics their eyes dart to many fleeting points around them, adding to their manic, disorientated state. If this can be brought back to familiar rocking movement, then lucidity and eventually rest can be coaxed out of the mania."

Words washed around Serana like sweet song. She heard, and for the most part she understood, but true meaning would not sink into her at that time. Weariness had beaten the meaning to her bones, and in that moment, she found her eyes heavy with waiting sleep.

It was strange. She had not rested in so long, yet she felt she had spent half her life and more asleep, sequestered away in that stone prison. How strange it was to wish for sleeps familiar and transformed embrace her body was slipping into.

Tender mirth, half hidden though unashamedly fond, coloured the notes of the woman's lilting voice. "Sleep now Serana" she urged, placing a mesmerizingly touch on her forehead, brushing aside a few strands of her dark hair, and the last remnants of the older woman's resting worries.

Clinging to a final simper of energy the entirely vulnerable vampire pushed out one last question.

"What is your name?"

A pause. She hoped it was a pause that signalled the flicker of a smile upon her saviour's face, for her eyes had slid closed and she had not the strength to open them. After a breath, warm damp air coiling on Serana's pale cheek, the nameless saviour gave her name and unknowingly set her anchor in the ghost of Serana's silent heart.

"Maesa".

* * *

_**Rewrite!**_

_**All will become clear in the fullness of time.**_

_**I had begun noticed some glarring errors with my own plans for this story and needed to correct past mistakes in some important details before the story continued.**_

_**If you're a reader from before the rewrite, please bear with me, it'll be worth it. **_

_**If you're new, welcome to the story and I hope you enjoy yourself.** _


	2. Chapter 2

When Serana awoke, she did not immediately realise why. Sleep had been a warm haven, filled with soft furs and kind murmurs spoken on sweet lips.

In comparison the world that greeted her was cold and loud, and not long after the tide of rest had drawn back she realise that an unfamiliar voice was shouting.

Words and their meanings escaped her drowsy state at first. She rubbed at her eyes and stretched out her heavy limbs finding herself cushioned amongst clean linens lightly scented with lavender. Curiosity and memory fought through the haze and Serana slid her eyes slowly open, wincing at the many speckles of bright sunlight that peeked and glimmered through the thatched roof of her waking world.

She lay in a bed. A modest room of well-worn but carefully maintained belongings surrounded her. She was alone, although a strong sense came to her that beyond the faded, heavy fabric that draped as partition from the door frame, there lay many more souls. As the last vestiges of heaviness drew back the heated temper of the rumbling voice below became words and an argument emerged.

"I've known you for too long for you to start lying to me now!" The last word was delivered with a thick thump and the rattle of crockery.

Serana pulled herself quickly from the embrace of the covers. She felt the cool air of the room wrap and snake around her, and found she was quite without boots, corset or cloak. She immediately spied them upon the lid of a low chest and reasoned that her unshod tred might very well provide her with better silence, so abandoned the notion of adorning herself and proceeded directly to the doorway.

"Damn it woman! Don't give me silence in the place of answers. I need to know if you've put the town or our pack…"

There was a pregnant pause. Serana was beside the patterned partition now and could hear at a strain the faintest remnants of a much calmer, softer voice, the exact words lost to the distance.

Whatever was said seemed to calm the antagonist into a state of guilty reticence, and when the man spoke again his voice was much quieter and heavy with the weight of sullen emotion. "You're still a part of the pack. Even if you're not… well… Aela would say gifted, but I'm not so certain anymore."

Serana lay a hand on the woven cloth and swept the heavy fabric aside carefully, creeping through to a small hallway, a set of wooden stairs leading down, and a similar doorway opposite.

Her senses must still have been dulled for she realised, far later than she should, that she was not alone. Brown eyes, shimmering warmly in the dim reflections of light from the floor below, watched her from the doorway opposite. Eyes that flashed a silent warning from the midst of a stern sombre face, accompanied by the sharp flick of a single scarred finger pressed to pink lips.

She was to stay, still and quiet. Serana had no immediate reason to reject the reasonable request, and so she waited. Rebellion would follow quickly if required and her premonitions were correct. That the almost silent party downstairs would soon become endangered.

"You can go now Vilkas." Serana's ear focused in on her voice and her attention was tugged immediately to the soft glow of candle light from the floor below that cast two blurry shadows on the wooden walls. "You can tell the others that I have endangered no one, and that I will be leaving the hold for a time. They may rest easy for a while, at least where I might be concerned."

The shadow figures on the wall opposite shifted and drifted, accompanied by the shuffle and rustle of clothing. Serana studied the shadows darkly eager to discern the movements accompanying such sounds that flowed up on the air. A gasp, a murmur and a tightening of tempers. Perhaps sleep still numbed her sharpest of wits, perhaps if she were rested, blooded, her imaginings might draw to her heated conclusions quicker. Then perhaps it might not have been the woman opposite her who acted first, and perhaps she may have come to quiet feelings and notions far sooner. All for the lack of a little rest and a drop of blood.

Movements much closer drew Serana's stare from the shadows to the peak of the stair, where the brown eyed sombre woman was shifting forward, sliding booted feet along the floor boards and crouching down. Lithe yet powerful, she sank lower till the orange glow from the floor below illuminated her features. Serana watched for her reactions as the woman's eyes caught and followed movements she could not ascertain, taking particular notice of how the muscles in her jaw drew tight.

"Leave." A one word command, laden with the expectation of a reaction just as swift and final came quietly up the stairwell.

Hesitation was instead the following companion. The woman crouched on the stair seemed to coil tighter still, the muscles primed either to spring forth or to snap shut around whoever stood at the base of the stair.

Serana felt breathless with the emotion of it, tumbling and confusing complexities of deep rooted emotions, fragile and worn yet wonderously raw and tumultuous. If she were not so invested in their outcome she might have found it all pointlessly dramatic.

Suddenly it was akin to unseen hands pouring a bucket of cool water on a forge. The air grew thin and fresh once more. The woman on the stair relaxed back into her bones with a ragged sigh. And from below there came the slam of a door, followed by a whisper of fluttering cloth.

"Lydia?" A quiet vulnerable voice asked.

The woman on the stair stood tall and descended quickly, not sparring Serana a glance. "I'm right here. Are you alright?" Lydia's voice seemed at strange odds with her stature. Whereas the woman was broad and tall, her physique clearly one of practiced strength and martial style, her voice took on a softer quality.

Serana felt the pinch of something sharp and ugly when she heard the familiar concern and tender ministrations in the words. The pinch became a jolting jab when she heard the reply.

"I'm alright, honestly. Please my dear, don't fuss me so."

Serana found her own body set single mindedly on the descent of the stairs, eager in some secret way to nudge herself into this unfamiliar intimacy. A small flutter of tickling nerves set to patter in her chest as she neared the lower floor.

"Do you think Vilkas will…" Lydia fell silent as Serana emerged and stared at her, her gaze sharp, but her expression purposely stoic.

The room was much as Serana recalled from the night previous, and where she couldn't remember it followed the lines to a pattern similar to the bedroom, modest and comfortable if a bit well worn. At the long table, which largely overwhelmed one end of the dwelling sat a woman whose posture sang out of weariness clearer than if she'd at that moment succumbed to an exhausted faint. All movement seemed heavy, sluggish, her grey eyes appeared watery and dimmed, and despite her clean and collected appearance there appeared at the edges a fraying. Despite these notions and truths she stood swiftly upon seeing Serana and crossed the short distance to her.

"Lock the door Lydia."

Lydia rose to do so and soon after Serana heard the click of the lock.

She was at once drawn entirely to the woman before her whose calloused fingers had risen to press smooth fingers to her forehead.

"How do you feel?"

Serana relished dearly the genuine concern that coloured her voice, though it saddened her greatly how unfamiliar the notion was. "I am better. Thank you." She replied in what she hoped was a gracious tone. "But…" she hesitated wetting her suddenly dry lips, "…Are you well? You look tired."

"She is." Lydia interjected before Maesa could speak. "But she won't rest."

Maesa dismissed Serana's concern with a casual wave of her hand and flickered her eyes to Lydia with an expression too swift to define. "I will rest once I'm in Markarth."

"Markarth?" Serana queried.

Maesa guided Serana to sit on the low bench beside the long table and seated herself beside, just close enough that their knees might brush past each other. She checked her forehead again with the back of her hand, then lifted delicately Serana's arm running her smooth fingers along the pale wrist till she stopped at the hollow before her palm. A small frown played along her brow.

"After what you told me of last night I though it wise to leave Whiterun for a while." She explained pressing her finger tips a little firmer to Serana's skin.

"Is it really so dangerous?" She joined Maesa in her frown. Serana found it difficult to believe that such a small band of ill organised soldiers could afford a real threat, especially considering the fact that she had killed many of their limited number.

"Yes." Both Maesa and Lydia said in only a breaths pause from perfect union. They shared a grim smile, rich with unuttered secrets Serana wished keenly to be privy to.

Lydia settled herself to lean against the upright support at the base of the stairs and leant her gaze studying Serana sternly.

"The Thalmor are not to be underestimated" Maesa gently yet firmly kneaded the soft skin at Serana wrist with her fingers still, her little frown dropping neatly into perplexity and curiosity. "They're dangerously driven when they put their minds to a single objective."

"Especially…" Lydia continued, "…when they believe they might finally have found the culprit for their embassies little brush with fire."

Serana looked once more between the two women. She was so eager to know, to understand with unspoken bond between them, this shared knowledge which flowed below every word and look they imparted.

Maesa withdrew her fingers from Serana's wrist and she immediately missed their touch, her skin reverting back to its icy chill without her warmth.

"Are you sure Markarth is the city that's best Maesa?" Lydia asked, a gentle concern once again rearing, causing a touch of reproach to shadow her question. "Surely if you went to Windhelm or Riften you might find greater safety?"

Maesa's dark curls were shaking even before Lydia had finished speaking. "Riften is Maevan's little empire, she would be able to corroborate their suspicions in exchange for an advantageous little profit. Windhelm would be exactly where they would expect me to run, straight into the arms of my proud and loving co-conspirators, or so they would spin it. They'd perceive the flames as Ulfric's plot and intensify the war once more."

Serana listened attentively, though much of the contexts lost her true understanding, she absorbed what she could and noted the names. A small fear was growing steadily in her breast, lapping in cold dark waters, but she pressed it back and down into submission as best she could.

"If you go to the West you'll be drawing attention to Delphine and Esbern." Lydia countered. "At least if you went to Windhelm you stand the chance that you might convince the Thalmor that it _is_ all a Stormcloak plot. They may just end up ignoring it specifically to spite him."

A curious expression passed over Maesa's face and she gave a small, almost wicked smile. "I hadn't considered that."

Lydia threw a careful glance at Serana. "What of her?"

Serana sat a little straighter. She wondered whether her emotions might be seen plainly in her eyes, did she look at her pleadingly. Would it help if she did?

Maesa's beautifully softly grey eyes drank her in, invisibly drawing forth from her all her vulnerabilities to be lain quite bare. She prayed in that moment to any Aedra or Daedra that might listen to her words that she might be given this woman as a companion against her loneliness.

"Are you to come with me Serana?" she asked in the most sweetly gentle voice, taking up once again Serana's hands, this time to hold tenderly and softly squeeze. "You cannot stay in Whiterun. You are not safe here. But, if would not object to it, you could travel with me for a while. I don't know your plans beyond if they involve…"

"Yes!"

The sudden enthusiasm with which she responded seemed to throw the two women and Serana felt her cheeks burn red with embarrassment. Whatever would her mother say in the face of her lacking grace and poise?

"Is that wise Maesa?" Lydia asked.

Serana gave her an almost involuntary glare, so disturbing and sudden it seemed to scare from the woman an imeadiate apology.

"I don't mean offense" she said quickly, "but you've already caused a lot of trouble, and Maesa needs no excuses for finding trouble."

"Lydia!" Maesa admonished, "Serana has no blame in my troubles, in truest fact in was she who gave us early warning of the Thalmor's movements."

The Nord woman seemed unashamed though remained quiet.

An altogether awkward silence passed between the three of them and Serana felt flush with guilt, certain that she was the cause.

"I would appreciate your company Serana." Maesa offered her, warm and reassuring.

The vampire hesitated. She would dearly jump at the offered hand. She was once again her lifeline in the lonely sea, but she wasn't sure she should catch a hold of the rope.

Maesa opened her mouth to speak again but as the first syllables left her lips a sharp knock came at the door.

_I'm sorry Morrowfest that I am a day late, but here is your chapter as so kindly requested. I hope it fulfils your expectations. _

_I do have a little bit more story waiting to be typed but I want to iron out a few creases in its structure. Hopefully it will be ready next week. _

_To anyone and everyone else who stumble upon this chapter and fic, thank you for the view and hopefully you will find some time to leave a small review? They are always always most appreciated. _


	3. Chapter 3

Maesa and Lydia shared an uncompromisingly fearful look, each standing abruptly. Lydia seemed the first to gain some sense and rushed over to the door, pressing her shoulder and ear up to the wood.

Serana turned to Maesa. Her posture was square, lips slightly parted and eyes hardened shimmers. She glanced to Serana searchingly, whether she found what she was searching for or not, she seemed to take on an air of determination.

In two strides she had positioned herself between Serana and the door. From where upon the long table it rested, she had also snatched up a long black dagger, unsheathed, and held it behind her, the point down, it's edge glistening wickedly in the lantern light. Serana could not see the door past Maesa. She saw the dagger and how the muscles in woman's wrist flexed and clenched tight. She was not accustomed to hiding behind someone else's skirts, at least not in her immortal life, so she found it quite perturbing, yet at the same time a great flattery.

From beyond Maesa the door opened and the air grew momentarily quite cold, and not from the rushing breeze that whipped around the room. The door closed and Serana could see the tension flood out of Maesa. "Jenessa." She sighed on one outward breath, relief evident in each of the three syllables.

A voice Serana did not recognise, smooth and mellow answered with, once again, well seated and warm familiarity. It made her skin prickle.

"What have you done with time Dunriel?"

A dark, grey skinned hand appeared at Maesa's elbow. Serana studied it closely. On her way to Whiterun she had seen a few beings of this skin. They appeared to be Mer but she knew not a variety that could bear such tones. The fact that she had seen very few elves at all had her perplexed, but this seemingly new abnormality was utterly alien.

Then there was that name, '_Dunriel_'. It seemed a bastard form of elvish, its pronunciation was thick and clumsy, its tones and pauses slurred.

Not attempting to hide the movement, Maesa placed the dagger back on the table. "Nothing new I assure you." Mirth coloured her words, but the hues were muted, her humour strained. "What is it? Has something happened?"

A hesitancy spoke and told more than if an hour of explanation had been given.

"Thalmor. Not far from the city. The Khajiit brought in the news. Six, heading this way."

Maesa's shoulders drooped, she seemed to wilt under this new intelligence.

"I thought we had more time." She said quietly, barely speaking above a murmur.

Serana's presence seemed to have been either forgotten or ignored by the three other women. All that changed in the flick of a gaze. Before she had a moment to draw her thoughts together into coherence, Maesa was pushed aside and she was being scrutinized by two crimson eyes.

She didn't know whether to recoil, or stare back. She was confronted by the strangest Mer she'd ever seen. Skin the colour of blighted ash, eyes like blood. The only break in her pallor seemed to be her lips that took on an altogether darker hue. It was difficult to tell the exact expression the dark Mer was observing her with as it appeared to possess no eyebrows. Soon she recognised on those dark lips a sneer, and knew she was not in favour.

"So this is the duar who started all this" the dark Mer spat out, Serana's presence on her tongue having the effect of a poison.

Beyond her immediate ire and deep distaste for this 'woman', Serana's mind turned the suggestion over in her mind. She was almost certain she wasn't, but was it possible? That she in some small action had caused the cascade of events leading to this confrontation.

Maesa stepped in before anymore of Serana's worries could seed themselves deeper in her consciousness. "She warned me about the Thalmor, Jenessa." A conviction so strong and passionate defended Serana's innocence that it made the vampire blush. "How can she possibly have started 'all this'?"

A swell of the deepest warmth fluttered in her chest when Maesa spoke, she believed Serana over these two 'friends' of hers. Twice she'd now chosen to do so. But why?

The dark elf gave a little ungainly snort. "What do you think provoked them into acting right now? The wars been quiet since you came down from the mountain. And how did _she_ know about the Thalmor anyway?" She drew back from Serana sharply and fixed her in her perceived place with a most disdainful glower.

The young woman at Serana's side shook out her dark curls, and ran tanned fingers through the developing tangles. "The Thalmor need no excuses to take any action at any time. Serana intercepted a messenger patrol in Solitude. It's as simple as that."

Guilt struck like a heavy blow to the gut, knocking any words she might have used to correct Maesa or raise in her own defence to the wayside. She could only sit there in silence whilst her mind tore down her excuses. She hoped she might have the opportunity to right her wrongs with Maesa, alone, later.

"You're either the biggest fool I've ever met, or you have more blind courage than half the men in the hold combined." Jenessa mumbled. Then she turned her attention from Serana like she was now nothing more than an annoying insect buzzing around their ears. "So what are we going to do about the Thalmor?"

"I am heading west to Windhelm, Lydia convinced me it's worth steering their attention to Ulfric once more." Maesa settled herself back onto the bench, seating with grace, the soft blush of her hip distracting Serana as she brushed quite unintentionally against her.

Jenessa took up Lydia's old stop by the stairwell, whilst the Nord seated herself on the second step.

"It's risky, but it might just be your best option." The Mer nodded. "Just make sure you don't piss off the guards, or his high-and-mighty-ness whilst your there."

"What should we do while you're gone?" Lydia asked, resting her muscled elbows on her knees, clasping her hands under her chin. "We might be able to run some small capers with the Companions to give you a better chance of a clean getaway?"

That same wicked smile creased the corners of Maesa's lips. "Not so much that they suspect. Just enough to upset them for a few days. Then lead them east. There's little point in running to Ulfric if we can't convince them it's all his plot."

"Great." The Mer grumbled, "Stuck with Vilkas and his halfwit for a few months, what could be better."

Her immediate dislike of this elf grew all the more certain with every breath the woman took. Though similarly, the more she heard of this Vilkas the more she became aware she didn't like him much better.

Maesa and Lydia ignored the comment. Then Lydia asked "When are you going to return? We could send word when its safe for you to come home." Palpable optimism hung in the air, though it seemed doomed to a momentary existence. Serana could not admonish the Nord's coming loneliness, she knew she would suffer it most keenly if their roles were reversed.

"I'll come back before the winter sets it." The young woman attempted to reassure her companions. "Don't worry, I'll write and I'll keep you updated. I'll send for you if I need you."

"Will you stay in Windhelm the entire time?" Jenessa asked.

Maesa laughed, "Two months together and I'm certain Ulfric and I would come to blows. No I'll move north to Morthal as the Autumn progresses."

"Best not leave it too long before you leave then." The dark elf announced her sentiments so matter of factly, her voice crisp and sharp, Serana wondered on how she had ever worked her way into Maesa's good graces. The woman stood free of the stairwell and stretched, almost feline in her movements.

Maesa nodded mutely. Lydia looked sullen. Serana felt a trickle of joy seep into her heart at the thought of being alone with Maesa, away from these two. Her possessiveness only triggered a ghostly glimmer of worry, and it was drowned out quite completely by her eagerness.

Something dark stirred within her mind, at the back beyond her waking thoughts, it pulled her sharply back to her father, and she gave an involuntary little shudder.

Jenessa was speaking once more, though Serana had little interest in listening. She would from that point on pay the aggravating woman as little mind as she could. She paid her little mind until the dark woman lent low and drew Maesa tightly into her arms, her grey fingers clasping tightly the cloth of the young woman's blue dress. Her dark lips grazed her tanned cheek and Serana felt a rage that shook her senses. She could make little sense of the intensity, luck posed her salvation from hasty reprisal as the dark elf swiftly withdrew and her anger melted away.

'_I'll see you soon_' came Maesa's goodbye to the elf, spoken on a voiceless breath, her stormy eyes wet and glistening.

And, much in keeping with the way in which she'd arrived, the elf left, leaving the three remaining once more alone.

Lydia was first to move, with reluctance, her limbs slow. "I had better go talk to Aela and Vilkas about the Thalmor hunting" she said hugging Maesa as the shorter woman also stood. "Take care my dear, and write soon and often."

The young woman agreed that she would and then the Nord left, and Serana got her wish. There was just herself and Maesa.

The mortal woman watched the door for a long moment, her expression clouded and distant. Serana took the absence to study her once more, a happy pastime she seemed to be finding herself indulging more and more the longer she spent in the woman's company.

Maesa was shorter than her, Serana stood at least half a head taller. She looked quite unlike any Nord. Maybe she was a Breton? But no. Breton's were much shorter still. Her skin was sun kissed, not the burnish of a Redguard, and certainly nothing so pale as her own pallor. Her hair was dark and rich, almost black, but when the light caught the strands it shimmered like tarnished copper.

And her eyes. Serana could lose herself in those eyes. She stopped and sort back to herself just as Maesa turned to her and hoped dearly that she did not blush.

Serana did not want there to be silence. She wanted between them to be in the easy humour and comfort that she had witnessed in the interactions of Maesa with Lydia, and though she was loath to admit it even Jenessa. Yet in all her earnest attentions and attempts she felt their companionship turn to something tense and rigid.

Maesa broke the moment easily with a careful pensive frown and a searching glance. "Are you much affected by the cold?"

Serana drew comfort from the unexpected question. She shrugged, "I cannot cause me serious injury, or at least it couldn't before. I wouldn't say it's comfortable for me."

"I have a cloak you can have; it should keep the worst of the weather away." With her infectious comforting smile she offered the small luxury to Serana without hesitation. "Come, we need to be ready to leave as soon as we can."

Maesa led her back up the creaky wooden stair. It felt somewhat like intruding, walking there now, even in the woman's company. It was a bizarre almost pervasive sense of an intimacy unearned, especially in the face of the unattended state she had left the bed in. Covers twisted and turned, rucked and tangled from Serana's hasty rising, it looked much like a marital bed, still warm from the connected bodies only just absent.

The younger woman took no notice. She swept around the room in a pattern of well-practised efficiency, moving from table to shelf and chest to draws, collecting all manner of small items, gathering them all together in the midst of a smooth valley at the end of the bed. Serana felt at odds standing dumbly by the doorway, so instead she took up a seat next to the growing collection, tugging the blankets back into some semblance of neatness.

"Do you need anything to travel Serana?" Maesa asked as she carried on. "Food? Clothing? Blood?"

Her casual manner threw Serana into a softened state of utter bewilderment. Perhaps vampire traveling companions were not a rare occurrence in this wonderfully strange woman's life. Strange how she herself had almost forgotten blood. How was that possible? She thought back. Surely it wasn't, it had been five days. That wasn't possible. What of the years before her awakening, the span of time she had no measure for. When had she last drunk blood? It might have been decades.

_A haze of colours and sounds, too bright, too loud for her. She couldn't think in its chaos. Her senses were flooding with information, wave upon wave cutting into her solitary silence._

_Then two hands on her shoulders, firmly pushing her back up right. One was wet, no, it was bleeding profusely, wrapped in mottled grey cloth a red bloom spreading swiftly before her. _

Maesa's blood? Was that possible?

Before Valerica had locked her away she'd mentioned a device. Whilst walking past the polished marble of the encompassing columns, her dark cloak billowing behind her, her heeled boots clicking against the stone. To stop her father, she'd said. A trap only triggered by mortal blood. It didn't seem that fool proof in retrospect, but she had felt a lot younger then. So the mortal blood would be harvested and collected, then it would be transferred into Serana's sarcophagus, providing her with a reviving stimulant, enough to wake her.

She had fed then. Maesa had unknowingly fed her and she had not fed since. Something seemed wrong here.

Her prolonged silence was noticed, and when she reached back into herself from her thoughts, she saw Maesa standing a few steps away watching her inquisitively.

"Are you alright Serana?" she asked carefully and slowly. "You seemed lost for a moment."

She looked to the younger woman and pondered exactly what she should say. In all honesty she had felt lost since she'd been awakened except for that moment on the plains outside the city when she'd recognised Maesa was approaching.

"I am fine, truly." She decided upon. "Any blood I require I can find for myself, don't worry." She attempted to sound casual. She wasn't convinced she'd managed it.

A flash of steel though not in the form of metal, glinted sharply and Maesa's brows drew into a deep frown.

"What do you plan to feed on Serana?"

A spark, white hot and flesh rendering, crackled between them. She felt the burn keenly and physically flinched.

"I can't have you feeding from just any wayfarer who has the unfortunate luck of crossing our paths." A step, then another, until Maesa's legs touched Serana's knees. "We don't need a trail of bodies behind us. So answer me, who do you plan to from?"

This intensity. This… fire, it scared the vampire, it frightened a deep and primal element of her nature. Like molten metal suspended above bare skin, she felt the invisible press of the threat.

"I would not draw unnecessary attention to us." Serana began. At first it was difficult, her words strung clumsily and awkwardly in a messy line of thought. Then she began to find her stride and with it a little bite of her own. "I want to escape from my father, not declare my location. Besides there are plenty pf hiding places for bodies where the buzzards might finish the remains."

"It's not our safety I'm concerned about," Maesa countered swiftly and quietly. The intensity ebbed away gradually until something of an undercurrent was left. An emotion Serana could not place, but something quite close to worry.


	4. Chapter 4

They emerged into the overcast, soggy morning a short while later, walking out into the quietly busy streets. The city was working around them, as cities often did, in a slow methodical churn of action repeated upon action, day after day. Merchants in the square bought and sold their goods, prices always up for fluid negotiation. Children and their weary parents went about their respective notions of important business, weaving ways through the mercantile crowds. Nearby a black smith was beating upon her anvil, and the air was rich with the dry woody smoke of the forge.

Despite its chaos, its brash clamour, Serana found herself lacking the nauseating swell that had attacked her the day before. For a creature in all the conventional terms 'dead' Serana revelled joyfully in the living drama about her.

It was such a different world from her father's court, such a happy change. And there beside her stood, donned in a cloak of dark, damp forest green, a woman who in no more than five days had totally enraptured her. She could, beyond an obvious physical attraction, barely understand the reasoning behind the intensity of feeling.

Maesa, in her kind, calm, collected manner, with which she seemed to handle most tasks, led Serana through the city to the gates. She exchanged pleasant greetings with a few dwellers, bobbing her dark uncloaked curls politely, passing a handful of friendly words with the blacksmith whose dark skin was streaked with the soot and sweat of her trade.

During this Serana was left to ponder herself and her feelings, chasing lines of logic down to find meaning at the collecting of the threads. Her first impressions of Maesa were as a saviour. The sole albeit mortal that had driven back the seclusion of her shadowy tomb. And who with long scarred fingers tenderly curled, had helped her up after her flesh and bone had found itself withered from long years of sleep. Then she was the naïve and trusting guide. A lamb more and more as Serana's strength recovered. So many times whilst her back had been turned and attentions drawn beyond could she have done her harm. All, in truth, an action of which she would be quite expected and easily capable of carrying out. Even now as she glanced towards Maesa's pretty tanned neck, seeing the pulse throb beneath the skin, she could have her blood in heartbeats. Yet as she glanced, she only felt the ghost of her hunger. It should be much fiercer, as she'd thought earlier that morning. By all accounts she should be ravenous for sustenance, especially considering her still unaccounted years of slumber.

How was it that she did not need? She wanted, for certainly she doubted whether any miracle besides ridding herself entirely of her 'gift', would ever free her of the want of the warming sweet taste of blood between her lips. It was a terrible addiction.

So if she was not drawn by a twisted attachment of survival, it must have stemmed from gratitude, and perhaps a queer sense of protective duty. To stop the kindly young woman from guiding any more agents of Daedra through the northern wilderness and directly into the arms of the most dangerous man in the region.

It somehow seemed to cheapen her feelings, if that was all the attraction truly was, coupled perhaps with a fear of being alone.

She could not say with any conviction that she knew Maesa, the way a friend or even a lover should. The entire sum of their conversation could fit into a skalds verse. Similarly, should she feel guilty about that? Should this attraction… call a kettle black, lust, be rightfully named anything more or less?

She confessed to herself as they walked once more down the sloping entranceway to the city, beyond its crumbling walls and surprisingly attached gates, that a new potency had taken hold deep in her stomach. One that ignited when she looked to the woman beside her.

"Jenessa should be waiting over by that bridge." Maesa pointed to a relatively sturdy construction of stone and mortar near the foot of the grand mountain on the horizon.

Serana could see no one waiting but reasoned that perhaps the dark mer was hiding in her attempts to watch for the Thalmor. Secretly she was glad not to see her. She could try once more to convince Maesa to abandon her company. Her white knuckles drew whiter still as she clutched the hilt of the dagger at her hip. She would not allow that.

Darkness was quickly forgotten as Maesa began to speak of the scenery. "How much has changed Serana? Is nothing truly similar? Surely you recognise the mountains and rivers?"

Serana allowed herself a soft warming smile. "It's mostly the inhabitants that have changed. The rocks and the rivers have become a bit more rounded." Seeking an example to prove herself she gestured towards the mightiest of mountains, its steep rocky slopes reaching high into the cloud line before them. "The Throat of the World is much the same as I remember it, and I would be greatly surprised if its inhabitants have much changed."

She did not see the puzzling look that passed over Maesa's face, but when the woman next spoke she could hear it. "You mean the Greybeards?"

Serana nodded. "Yes, though I didn't realise they were quite so common a knowledge as all that now. How do you know of them?"

There was a pause. Maesa seemed to be considering the mountain, her eyes drawn up to the cloud line, her lips slightly parted and her brows crinkled in thoughts deep and complex.

"A few years ago, I spent a great deal of time on the mountain." The young woman began slowly then sped up to add off handily, "Much if not all of Skyrim knows of the Greybeards now. It is a site of pilgrimage for many."

"They let them into the sanctuary?" Serana asked incredulous. Not even when the most powerful of men came knocking in _her_ Skyrim did the gates of High Hrothgar welcome anybody.

Dark curls swung smoothly. "No. Seldom is anyone allowed entry. Pilgrims stop at the doors, and supply offerings of food and gifts. The town below offers supplies regularly and sends a young man up the seven thousand steps."

Serana let out a helpless snort. "There aren't seven thousand steps. Unless the mountain has grown of course. When did that rumour start?"

Although Maesa shrugged, she did not answer. They were close to the bridge now, and Jenessa was still nowhere to be seen.

Maesa held up her hand, bidding Serana to wait as she continued to the lip of the cobbled stone.

The plains around them were deserted. Any activity that might have been taking place near the city was now well out of sight and hearing. The river babbled pleasantly below the bridge and the strong breeze whistled lowly, cooling the air.

Maesa looked concerned, but she didn't speak. Something else beyond Jenessa's disappearance was making her nervous. Serana looked to the north. The river curved off eastwards, in the direction their journey would hopefully take them. She was attempting to remember the name of the water when she looked back to the bridge and found Maesa gone.

Panic reared like a frightened horse, and she rushed to the spot where Maesa had been standing. Nothing. Not a trace. Not even kicked up dirt or dust marked any sign of a struggle.

Maesa's name was fresh on her lips when seemingly form out of the air itself a pair of dark arms clamped around her waist and dragged her back. Towards the edge of the bridge and then over it. She fell briefly through the air and was caught by another pair if arms, this set lightly tanned. Before she could catch her own wits Serana felt familiar scarred fingers press themselves to her lips, silencing her voice as a warm mouth lingered close by her ear.

"There are Thalmor on the road." Maesa whispered. "Hush now" she said soothingly.

True enough, when Serana listened, there beyond the gurgle of the river, came the tread of many boots. The road had been clear. She'd looked in all directions, so where had these Thalmor come from?

Maesa held her close. So close Serana could feel the pulse of her heart and the tensed shifting of her muscles. She found it difficult to focus on much else, but gradually she became aware of voices above them.

"…take the southern road. You take the west. You the east. If any of you do not return within the day, it will be assumed that the terrorist has fled in your direction and incapacitated you. Do not cause long standing damage to the target. Elenwen's orders. She is to be captured alive. Be wary of any and all travellers, and report all you see." The speaker was clearly in command of the operation, Serana was perturbed at once by the almost courtly affection in his speech.

Several voices, both male and female sounded off their compliance and after only some moments pause did the footsteps start to scatter steadily off in many directions.

Though all was seemingly quiet again, Maesa's fingers had not left Serana's lips, and her mouth was still close to her ear. Serana could not see her face, could not judge the danger, so she remained as still and as quiet as she could, the very tips of her booted toes submerged in the icy water of the river.

The dark elf manifested from out of the sunlit air and said with a sigh "The _duar_ have all gone now, split off and guarding the roads."

Maesa's hold relaxed and she let Serana stand freely. "That's a relief. How did you know they were using alteration?"

The dark elf snorted, "Magic like that leaves a trace in the air, you can see it shimmer if you catch the light right, and there's a smell, like powdered sulphur and mammoth cheese." Jenessa's nose drew up and wrinkled the skin between her brows. "Don't know how mages can stand it honestly. But what happens now? You can't travel the roads anymore."

Serana looked about her and took in the sight of the muddy waters. "Could we follow the river?" She suggested, hopeful that they would not turn back, even more so that Jenessa would leave their company.

The subject of her ire looked at her with such a blatant gawp of utter derision, Serana felt anger coil tightly in her breast, her face beginning to feel hot.

"You might not feel the cold Nord," Serana's race was all but spat out at her. "but the rest of us lowly foreigners would lose limbs to frostbite before half a mile."

"I'm sure…" Maesa began, trying as usual to defuse the brewing storm.

Jenessa wasn't finished. "Skyrim's harsh enough as it is without missing toes or even legs. Imperial blood is not brewed for paddling in frozen rivers, you idiot."

At Serana's momentary bafflement Jenessa dismissed her idea. "You'd better head for Mara's pass and come up west of Windhelm. No major road and the pass should be quiet this late in the autumn, but you'll just miss the snow if you're lucky."

'_Imperial'_ Serana thought. _'What on Nirn is an Imperial?'_

"I suppose we'd sneak around the bandits at Valtheim Towers as well." Maesa's resignation cut through Serana's pondering. "We'd have to pass Talos' shrine and skirt the foot of the mountain then follow through to the pass."

"It does sound complicated when you put it like that, but it's the only way if you don't want to run into Thalmor, or…" the dark elf shot Serana a filthy look, "…if you don't want to freeze to death."

That was the line. Serana snarled, bristling. "What is your problem with me?" she demanded of the elf.

Jenessa's hand fell smoothly to the hilt of her blade. "You're a stranger, with a dangerously pretty face and little to no sense or notion of what you've stepped in. You're foolish, clingy and I can already tell you were so much raised with a golden spoon you're still trying to work it out of your…"

"Enough!"

Both quarrelling women were struck momentarily silent. Maesa was openly glaring at Jenessa.

"Go home." She said quietly, her voice chillingly flat. "Keep yourself and Lydia out of the Thalmor's way and stop anyone from the city apart from the Thalmor from following us. That includes Vilkas. Now go." With that she turned and walked out into the sunlight, along the rocky shore of the river.

Serana was eager to follow and to leave the stunned elf beneath the bridge. She stepped out only to feel a blade at her back.

"You harm a hair on her head Nord, or a piece of her heart, I'll find you and sever every single link in your spine."

Then the blade was gone, and when Serana whipped around to look she could see no one below the bridge.

_I am pleasantly surprised by how many views this story is receiving, it's a great joy to check the stats every morning. _

_I hope to continue this story for a fair while as I now have a good framework to guide the plot. _

_I'm very grateful for the reviews I have received and I hope everyone will continue to enjoy where this story is heading. _

_P.S. Sorry for the shortness of this chapter but I promise the next will be longer to make up for the word loss. _


	5. Chapter 5

Shaken, perturbed and more than a little bit angry, Serana hurried to catch up with Maesa, ignoring the discomfort of the sun and the momentary fleeting sharp burn that simmered behind her eyes. At her approach Maesa glanced back. Serana was struck by the sombre sadness that hung present in her expression.

"I'm sorry Serana." She said quietly when she had come to walk beside her. "Jenessa can be abrasive at times. I hope she didn't upset you?"

Another easy show of concern and Serana fell deeper. "Not overly so" she answered in part truth. She attempted a midway. "She is… fierce for certain." she admitted though a sharp little echo of the dark elf's blade itched at her words.

Maesa rewarded her with a brief yet humoured laugh. "I would say that describes her pretty well indeed." The young woman smiled radiantly, "though she does soften her outlook towards strangers eventually. We were quite lucky she didn't realise that you're a vampire, we would have had many more problems if she had."

"So who does know?" she asked, eager and curious to find out who Maesa had told and trusted.

"Just Lydia, and of course myself." She cast a smooth palm casually through the air indicating to nothing of particular importance. The swiftness with which her mood had changed would have had far more impact had it darkened, but in the shining of her calmly happy demeanour and her good cheer, Serana found a greedy stream of joy ran strangely through her.

"I couldn't have not told Lydia; we do live under the same roof after all." Maesa continued unaware of how the light unintentional suggestion tugged sharply at her companion's fine mood.

"Are you lovers?"

Serana said it before even the premonition of conscious thought had entered her mind. When she realised that she had indeed asked a question so profoundly personal she flushed a deep glowing crimson.

Maesa seemed to simply stare for an agonisingly long moment seemingly thrown quite off guard by the sudden question and Serana's implied interest in such a detail. Then her face cracked and shattered into a broad stretching smile, followed swiftly by a poorly contained tidal wave of fitful giggles quite unbecoming for a lady of stature, but a blessing in Serana's mind.

"Lovers?" Maesa stuttered between boats of uncontrollable laughter and gasps for air. "By the Aedra no! Lydia's more mother than lover to me, damnable woman that she is."

Serana out upon her face an expression of mild curiosity in attempt to cover her embarrassment, but internally she was sighing out her anxiety. 'Thank the Aedra indeed.' She thought.

"Why on Nirn would you be interested in such a thing anyway?" Maesa asked finally beating back her outburst, her serene calm qualities slipping back over her features.

If Serana's heart still beat as a mortals did she would have felt it shudder to a stop. "I…" she cast around for a reason. Maesa waited for her answer expectantly as she wordlessly led them up and away from the river bank, to the steepening scree of an old hill bound path.

"You seemed very close" Serana desperately latched onto the answer and clung to it. "I just wanted to know why you trusted her above anyone else."

In her thrashings for an answer Serana failed to notice how loose the ground truly was and as she picked her way up the ever rockier terrain she felt her heel slip quite smoothly out from underneath her. She slid swiftly down, small sharp pebbles and rocks digging into her palms and under her finger nails as she sought purchase on the slope. She came to a sudden stop as her ankle jarred against an outcropping rock and she hissed through clenched teeth as the pain ricocheted up her legs.

"Serana!" A few tumbling stones told succinctly of Maesa's approach though her path was far better planned. "Are you alright?"

Her tanned hands helped her to stand then checked over her bones from head to toes. When they came to Serana's bleeding cuts and scrapes, which dotted and criss crossed her palms the younger woman ordered her to sit on a well-appointed rock.

"It's fine." She tried to relay to Maesa. "Once I've fed the wounds will heal quite quickly."

"I can heal them faster." Maesa pronounced, kneeling before Serana and taking up her battered hands, cradling them like the downy heads of new born babes.

A stillness passed over Maesa, peaceful and contemplative. It seemed to fill the younger woman up, seeping into every pour and hair. Then just as she was close to spilling over with the serene aura it began to flow through their combined hands. It soothed Serana to a point in which she felt wrapped in the finest cloths.

A warm light, coloured like shimmering wet sand just before twilight, encompassed Maesa's fingers. Slowly with soft flicking tongue of cool flames, the magic slipped over and smothered Serana's wounds.

Restoration magic by its very nature should not have worked on a vampire, of this Serana was certain. Her mother had told her such. Restoration magic was only to be used by the living on the living, a world of which they were no longer a part.

The sensible scholarly persistence of her brain schooled her to tell Maesa such before her energy was completely drained. "Maesa I…" she began gently, but she stopped short. The she stared, then she gasped.

Fresh pink skin lay where scratches had been, forming bruises were yellowed after thoughts, and wherever the dirty grit had worked its way beneath her skin it now rested or tumbled from the clean surface.

"There. See?" Maesa ran her thumb over the mended flesh of Serana's hand. "They feel better?"

Serana stared blankly at her, stunned in a way she had seldom been before. Could the workings of an entire school of magic have changed so dramatically in the years she'd been sleeping? Was such a thing possible?

When Maesa made to stand and detach herself from the vampire Serana stopped her, pulling her back down locking their eyes together, silently demanding answers. In her own time, she'd been dangerously intelligent. Naïve, yes. She'd certainly realised that flaw, but her wit and intellect had been second to none she had ever crossed minds with. Yet here knelt before her light sunblushed skin showing concerned expectancy, she was confronted with an enigma she could not even identify let alone hope to unravel.

Blood. Magic.

An undercurrent was at work below the surface here and she couldn't quite see it. Something unique lay before her. A fear shook the very muscles of her heart making her quiver like a plucked string. As if the idea had been at the tip of an arrow she felt physically struck as it left a burning schism through her thoughts and memories. The Thalmor were not the only threat, they had much more to fear.

"_She's a strange one Serana. What do you know of her?" Harkon reclined lazily in his chair, his pale fingers caressing the smooth well maintained tresses of his inky beard. _

_The court was empty except for the dead and dying. Cattle, groaning soundlessly, their mouths agape and slacken in a weary terror that drowned their bones replacing their drained blood. _

_Serana leant upon the edge of one of the long tables, arms crossed, refusing to look at the pitiful meals or her father. Instead she fixed her gaze to a dull grey flagstone, one of a hundred that made up the floor. _

"_Who?" she replied eventually, more aware of her father's eyes upon her than the question he'd asked. Already the idea of escape and reunion with her saviour was loud and persistent in her mind. _

"_The woman who brought you back." Her farther snapped, casting her a fleeting yet sharpened glare. "What do you know of her?" He repeated. _

"_Little." _

_It was true, she did know next to nothing and she regretted every wasted moment she had not asked more. _

"_Hmph!" Harkon sounded unimpressed. "Shall I tell you what I know then, my unobservant offspring?"_

_Serana sighed at the boasting evident in his voice. 'You're going to regardless of what I say so go ahead' though Serana knew better than to say so aloud._

_As she'd expected her farther continued. _

"_She's a young woman, possibly late twenties. From the south no doubt, possibly Cyrodil judging from her hair and skin. She's beautiful for a mortal, she has a pleasant face, and her looks make her exotic in the province…"_

_Serana bristled and glared up at her father. Harkon luckily seemed lost in thought, his own gaze focused on nothing yet his eyes were lit intensely. _

"…_She's powerful enough to kill three of my best courtiers. Rescue you from you mothers mechanisms. And strong enough to with stand feeding your appetite after all these years…"_

_Serana had stopped listening. She was growing angry and perturbed by the haze that had glazed her father's eyes. She knew that look, the closeness of his brows, the shimmer that gleamed over his metallic pupils. He was thinking, plotting , and that was dangerous. He wanted to expand his collection. _

_Harkon listing off her mortal's qualities felt perverse, like he was eyeing up an animal for a feast. _

"_She's just a foolish woman who stumbled into a cave." She blurted out. She believed nothing from her own words but could not stand the presence of her father's admiration any longer. _

_Harkon blinked blankly, he seemed to have quite forgotten she was in the room, or perhaps he'd never expected her to interrupt. "You're twice the fool Valerica ever was if you believe that Serana."_

Twice the fool.

It seemed her father was right, for once.

Maesa was talking, asking her once again if she was alright. Starnge to be asked so constantly something that no member of her family had asked her in many waking years.

"I'm fine." She murmured watching the dance of the breeze through her dark locks for a long moment before releasing her clinging hold. "I'm sorry I'm such a burden to you."

"Not a burden" Maesa assured, though she did so quietly, standing slowly. "An unexpected addition, certainly, but not a burden." She no longer sounded very convinced of such a sentiment.

Serana stood and started immediately up the scree, tugging her loosened hood back over her watery eyes. The sun was quite bright.

"Serana?" Maesa's call made her pause in her ascent though she did not turn back. "If there is something troubling you, please tell me. No burden is worth bearing alone."

The wind whipped around them and drew away Serana's answer.

When next they could hear each other without interruption the older woman had changed her response. "I am not certain."

Warm fingers wrapped around her wrist. "Tell me" a soft gentle voice, close enough to her ear that she could feel the whisper of breath.

Shiver cascaded through her but she felt warm. "I…"

A roar cut her off.

As loud as thunder the sound filled the air and set rocks to tumble down the mountain side. Maesa spouted a curse and set to dragging Serana down the slope once again.

Serana stumbled and slid down behind her until both women lost their footing and began to fall head over heels down the loosened terrain. They came to a hault in a tangled heap beside the river. Serana sat groggily her head rattled by their hap hazard descent. A dark shadow bigger than Maesa's house blotted out the sun.

"Is that…?" she asked the humming air.

Maesa groaned and drew herself to her knees moving off of Serana. She seemed to recover quickly, her gaze dancing back and forth across the sky, now deceptively empty. "Quickly!" She ordered dragging her to her feet. "Down the river, before it comes back."

"What about the Thalmor?" Serana asked just in time before another roar shook the earth and deafened them both.

Maesa would not stop. She'd started running now, one around Serana's, the other on her sheathed sword. Ahead of them loomed a ruined structure. A watchtower and bridge than spanned the mountainous valley they now entered, high over their heads. She could see figures moving along it's length.

"Maesa!" She protested seeing one of the figures pointing and shouting at their approach. Were they Thalmor? "Maesa stop! Tell me what that thing was!"

A third roar made the mountains quake. Rather than stop or slow the mortal woman ran faster, under the bridge swerving right and left in attempt to pre-empt the arrows that fell near them.

She tried calling out to Maesa again, only to be met by the sharp order "Just keep running!"

Suddenly an almighty impact echoed out across the valley. Stone bricks the size of men came crashing down from the bridge and the men soon followed, landing on the waiting rocks, their spines and skulls cracking with the impact, soaking the river a crimson red. Serana looked up to see leathery grey wings, like a bats but larger, much larger. A scaly tail swung and crashed into the watch tower, its structure crumbling as if it were made from straw.

A great plume of fire arced out across the sky and another body fell down, blackened and smouldering. A primal fear flooded Serana's senses as she felt the heat radiate from the corpse. It bid her legs run faster, till she ran abreast with Maesa, the younger woman relinquishing her hand.

Beyond the now collapsing structure the valley sloped downwards, a great forest of shadowy pines stratching ouot before them.

"There!" Maesa shouted over the roars, darting over to the left, towards an outcrop of rocks. As they neared it Serana picked out the crumbling edges of an entrance into the heart of the mountain, a cave. There escape had not gone unnoticed. Having finished with its feast on the bridge the beast let out a cry, a long screaming sound, a signal to begin the hunt.

"It's spotted us!" Maesa cried out twisting her head back to view their approaching doom. "Quickly run to the cave!"

Serana didn't need telling twice. She could practically feel the fire at her heels , the heat catching the tips of her hair. The cavern with its walls dripping with moisture seemed to fling its amrs wide open for her, ready to cradle her softly in its embrace. Serana dove into the darkness, slamming into icy stone and practically sobbing with relief.

_Maesa._

She looked about her. The young woman was not there.

Outside the beast was shaking the mountain its coiling fire causing the rocks to steam. Her name was torn from Serana's lips, and she hurried back to the entrance.

The daylight blinded her and she could see nothing bu blurring shapes and shadows. The as her vision cleared she became aware of the battle. There her mortal stood, bow of polished wood lifted high, a feathered arrow just loosened, arcing up through the air to the…

"Dragon?" she could not believe her eyes. A dragon.

The arrow found purchase in the beasts flank and the creature gave a terrible voice to such an insult. Maesa had not remained still to await its retribution however. The young woman had abandoned her fight at the sight of Serana and was now hurtling towards her, the jaws of death close to her heels.

Serana was too stunned to move, even as Maesa came crashing into her. The air was choked from her lungs by the impact as their bodies collided, and by some miracle Serana remained standing. Maesa pushed her back as the light was extinguished by the bulk of the dragon, the beast rammi9ng itself into the mountain side. The rocks of the cave came down upon them and they scrambled further and further into its depths.

The world became a chaos of noise, dust and rock. Just as they became engulfed in the darkness Serana captured Maesa in her arms and dove forwards, wrapping her body around hers.

Then there came silence.

A heaving wracking cough shook her body, but it was not she who had coughed. Serana blinked attempting to get her eyes to adjust to the utter blackness that surrounded them. She felt the heat of Maesa's body in her arms, muscles quaking as no doubt the adrenaline faded.

"Bloody…Dragon…" the woman wheezed shakily reaching out and around, searching for something in the gloom.

"Are you alright?" Serana asked, beginning to tentatively run her hands over her back and shoulders.

"I think so." Maesa coughed once again. She let out a grunt of frustration, "Damn it!" she muttered and Serana felt her searching cease.

"What is it?"

From between them came a pulse of light, captured like a fire fly in Maesa's half close fist. It illuminated their surrounding casting long flickering shadows over a sizable wall of rubble at their feet and a yawning blackness stretching into a tunnel at their heads. Clasped in Maesa's other hand Serana saw a shard of her beautiful bow, splintered and fractured, even it's once shining surface deeply scratched.

Maesa tossed the bow away and began to steadily rise, Serana let her hands fall away, she felt the weight of the absence immediately. The young woman sat and looked at the rubble holding her captured light source up, moving it side to side as if in hopes it would change the outcome of what she saw.

Her dark curls swayed and she shook her head and sighed.

"Well we can't go back outside, at least not this way." She twisted round and looked downs the tunnel, releasing her light. The little glowing orb floated wistfully away, leaving them in thick shadows.

Growing, crawling discomfort snaked its way into Serana's mind as the light faded away. Before she realised her own movements she reached for Maesa laying her cool fingers over her warm ones.

Maesa did her the great curtesy of saying nothing.

The tunnel seemed to turn left not far from where they sat, then if the shadows were anything to go by, it steadily rose. The distant light flickered and died, and after a only a few moments Maesa summoned another. As this second orb lit up the world Serana caught Maesa watching her wordlessly.

Grey eyes grazing over her pale skin an unspoken word on her lips. She hoped… she wasn't quite sure for what, but she hoped keenly for some further action, some indication of deeper affection.

In a heartbeat it was gone and Maesa turned away, standing and lifting her hand from under Serana's, tangling their fingers instead and helping her to her feet.

"There should be, with any luck, another entrance to this cave." She said drawing her sword in a fluid motion with her free hand. "Though who knows what lives here."

'Hopefully no dragons' Serana thought as they began to walk, she could quite happily never see another one again.


	6. Chapter 6

It was night by the time they'd traversed the cave. The moon shone brightly in the sky and cast the rocky plateau, upon which they now stood, in a silvery glow.

There had been spiders, giant spiders that slathered and spat sticky saliva out at them. Serana had fortunately been hit only the once. Maesa had fared less well, the foul substance matting her rich hair.

The younger woman smiled wildly at the stars and sky. Happy, it appeared, to be under the heavens once again.

Before them, covering much of the plateau, lay a lake. Wide and shimmering, a milky white in the moon's lights it made the scene almost mystic.

"Mara's eye." Maesa announced.

Serana wondered whether this was a new saying of contentment at first, but quickly realised that she was talking about the lake.

"Why is it called that?" she asked staring across the rippling waters.

"Some drunken tale or another, probably." Maesa reasoned though she seemed contemplative. "It's peaceful here. Though perhaps that's just in contrast to the spiders and the dragon."

"It's beautiful." Serana allowed herself the sentiment, taking in every detail she could. Committing every aspect to a memory she could cherish.

On a breath Maesa intoned a poem softly.

"Frosting Moonlight lifts its pale beauty,

To drink in the worlds loveliness,

So that on nights of silver old men might weep,

And lovers might give their hearts away."

"That's lovely." Serana stated letting her eyes slip silently over Maesa's profile. From the gentle slope of her forehead, down past dark brows, along a softly curved nose, then to pink lips cast white in the light. "Who wrote it?" she asked mystified.

"I'm not sure. A priest of Mara I assume. I first read it in one of her temples many years ago." Then for a moment Maesa was lost in that memory and Serana saw a fleeting glimpse of the girl her companion had once been, all in the glimmer of a shining eye.

Talk of temples and clergies to the divines made her uneasy and uncomfortable. No longer would such a place have a simple meaning to her. It would always carry weight. No more a notion of plain truth, it would always carry with it a dread unbroken. Somewhere she had been shattered.

A shiver, quite sudden, alarmed Serana as it took hold of the other woman. "Are you cold?" she asked, laying her hand gently on Maesa's shoulder.

"A little." Maesa confessed, "We should probably keep heading for the city rather than stop here for the night though."

She felt like she should protest, to her ire Jenessa's words ringing heavily in her ears. There was however logic behind the suggestion. Besides whether they stopped here or walked to the waiting city of kings, she could still enjoy the beauty of her companion by the waking moonlight.

"So long as your happy to continue," she remarked, giving Maesa's shoulder a gentle squeeze, "I will follow on."

A light trickling laugh cascaded from her lips and Maesa lay her warms fingers over Serana's. "I need no vows of obedience or loyalty Serana. Just your friendship and your good humour will be enough."

A smile played upon her lips, though its edges were tightly drawn. "Your friend then." She slipped her touch away. "Lead on my friend."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

From amidst the swaying reeds of the crystal clear pool, two wet glistening eyes watched the women leave. Large as lily pads, blinking lazily, the colour of lush dewed grass, the watchers followed them till they merged with the distance, becoming no more than spots on the descending mountain path.

The creature to which the eyes belonged moved through the shallows, slipping through the water like lantern oil, its bulk dragged behind it made the surface slosh and roll. It made no sound as it crept to the centre of the lake, pulling itself higher as it went, till there emerged a slimy stinking mass covered in weed and algae.

Its two black eyes were still turned to the women, though they were little more than memory. It didn't matter, _she_ did not rely on the constrains of a mortal's eyes to see, she could watch them even if they were stood atop the battlements of the Nord's city. With an effort that made its wobbling flesh ripple, the dark water dweller thrust its mass up into the night air.

Where its slime had touched a single pin head of light now hung. Twinkling as brightly as any star, it glimmered and grew. Soon the waters became awash with dancing light, reflecting the brilliance as well as any polished metal. The light began to fill out a shape, arms appeared, skin perfectly white, legs that peeked beneath a silken liquid gown of midnight blue. Finally came a head, a woman's face, beautiful and splendid in a way in which no words could pay earned justice, an excellence quite unmeant to be quantified in Nirn's words.

The dark dweller sank below the surface, it's mission complete, now _she _would see the women, _she _would take the path from here and it could go back to its resting at the base of the lake amidst the bleached bones and swaying weeds.

The figure above the lake paid the lurker no mind. She watched, as she was expected to, the women.

She was not touching the water. Her feet not so much hovered as they hung, just above the water's lapping surface, never quite touching. Her long dark hair, that cascaded in a great flowing torrent down her pale back, flicked and curled touching with it's very tips the surface.

On a whisper that became one with the breeze the strange woman breathed a word, a name, one that left her lips and rushed for the walkers. Down it tumbled, picking up speed as the ground fell away beneath it. On and on, racing the breeze at its back, twisting and turning till in a burst of icy energy that chilled both the women to the bone it found its targets and whispered the word into the ears of the burdened.

At the sound they glanced back towards the lake, finding only starlight and the rising faces of the moons.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

After some time, with the moons high in the sky, Serana turned to her walking companion and voiced a riddle that had been plaguing her mind. "What did Jenessa mean when she called you an Impearial?"

Maesa's gaze flickered to her, a mix of questioning disbelief and deep seated confusion evident across her features. "It is my race." She explained simply. "It is what I am, as you are a Nord along with Lydia, and Jenessa is a Dunmer."

This was not what Serana had expected. "There were no such races as Imperial or Dunmer before I slept. How long must it have truly been?"

"Are you sure you want to know Serana?" sympathy, well-meaning replacing the disbelief. "Might it be better not to know."

"Do you know?" Serana did not mean to sound accusatory, but she could not hide her growing frustrations. She did not want to be some hapless damsel, fumbling and stumbling through this alien world. Her knowledge had been stolen from her by the passing of countless years, and she wanted it back.

Maesa looked up to the twinkling heavens, following a few of the constellations with her roving eyes. She would not look away.

"I used to copy manuscripts when I was younger. Scrolls filled with spidery text and ancient ink blots. I had to read the contents carefully and recreate its meaning in modern tongues. As such I have some fragmentary knowledge of the history of Nirn, sometimes it proves useful." Finally she looked to Serana, starlight setting her eyes to sparkle. "In answer to you, yes. I at least have a notion."

A nervous itch pulled at the sides of Serana's stomach. She felt a little nauseous as the shadow of this knowledge drew a cold mask over Maesa's face. She licked her lips finding her mouth paper dry. "Why do you ask whether I'd want to know?"

They were nearing the rumbling course of a large river, a few water worn smooth rocks jutting out from the near barren landscape. Maesa paused beside one of the largest of the outcroppings, leaning back against its surface, resting her hands on its lip. Serana stood before her waiting and watching, though her mind warned her against looking for answers.

"Who do you blame for locking you in that tomb?" Maesa asked slowly crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

"Must you use that word." Serana answered, shifting her body awkwardly, looking away briefly before finding herself drawn in once more.

"I term it blame because I believe it's the right word. I do not imagine you were put there of entirely your own free will. Regardless of proposed reasoning I do not for one moment believe it was right."

The skin of Serana's jaw grew tight. "You have no idea why I was put in that place; how can you possibly pass judgement on whether it was right or wrong."

Maesa's gaze hardened. "You did not attack me when you stumbled out of that sarcophagus. You did not harm me in anyway during our journey to your father's castle. You even defended me when he threatened my life. In my mind these actions are your qualities, whilst the actions of your parents have as of yet done little to ingratiate me."

She was stunned. Laid out piece by piece, point by point Serana saw a logic behind Maesa's reasoning she had not noticed before. A methodical stepping from one rock to another in a line of stepping stones. She was being tested. From the moment the stone slid away to the heartbeat in which they now lived. Maesa was constantly treading the precarious path, with every step unknown till it was taken, to knowing Serana. Truly knowing her, who had ever set off on such an ambition? None that she remembered. Even in the face of Serana's impatience and ire, she remained passive, her mannerisms calm and temperate.

She swallowed down the lump that had risen in her throat and took a leap of shaky new born faith. "There was… well, there _is_ a prophecy…"

Recognition flashed behind the silvery grey of Maesa's eyes like summer lightning. "The Elder Scroll."

Serana nodded. "Yes. We had two. They told of a way to halt the tyranny of the sun."

Maesa paled and she continued, assured that she knew at once the significance of such a term. "My mother and I didn't wish a war with the whole of Nirn, so we ran from my father's court, I with one scroll, my mother with the other. She placed me in Dimhollow as you call it, then fled. I assume since my father doesn't have the other scroll, he never found her."

Maesa's pallor had not settled, in fact she almost looked as if her skin had turned to ashen stone, what little colour remaining after her horror being stolen by the moon light.

"Your scroll," she breathed, eyes wide. "Where is it?"

"I hid it." Serana replied quickly. "It wasn't safe to travel with it; it draws too much attention."

"And your father? He will not be able to locate it independently?" Her voice was urgent, almost a demand rather than a question, the knuckles on her clenched hands almost bleached bone white.

"No." Serana stated, her conviction firm and grounded. "No he will not be able to find it, unless I were to tell him where to look."

She didn't demand to know. Serana had expected her to. Instead she seemed satisfied with this assurance. "That is a great relief." She sighed, the tension in her body uncoiling on her outward breath.

Serana was still left with Maesa's question and although the Imperial did not ask her to answer it again, she felt the weight of its incomplete state weighing on her till she knew with a passionate certainty that it could not go unanswered. "They are both responsible" she said finally.

She understood immediately. "Then you have all the more anguish to gain if you ask again how long you were asleep. If you had mortal acquaintances Serana they are long dead. The world and its races have changed infinitely from where they were when you last knew Nirn. It has been a long time." The word, and the way she said it sent chills down her spine and set a state of such utter terror in her heart that she trembled. _Long_.

If she opened that door, if she found out how many years had been stolen would she ever be able to close it. Could she forgive her parents? They both were responsible. Her father and his lust for power. Her mother and her need to undermine him. She had been caught between them since birth. Caught like a beast in a snare, tugging this way and that, searching for affection she was unsure was truly ever given without recompense.

"Will it make you happy?" A gentle voice was tugging at her. Maesa's fingers curled around her wrist pulling at her limp arm, calloused pads resting into the hollow where her pulse should be. "Will it return to you what was taken, knowing? Will you waste your present chasing your past?" Her voice was soft as starlight, her lips curled soothingly into an undemanding smile. She asked nothing of her. She offered her sympathies and advice freely, and Serana adored her in that moment with a blossoming affection she had no hope of stemming.

She wanted to say _'You are beautiful'_. To forget the question at the forefront of her mind and ignore the troubling world with her father and mother's war and its grasp on her life. To get lost in Maesa's life, that is what she wanted. To hide there and become a part, so that they were indistinguishable.

"No" she answered. It would not make her happy. What would make her happy was standing before her, swathed in the light of the mid-night sky, and she knew she must have it, or loose herself to maddening torment.

"You're right," she breathed her fingers stretching up and capturing the other woman's, weaving them together tightly. She pulled her thumb across her knuckles, smiling, looking deeply into Maesa's eyes. _'It's better not to know'_ she thought, though the notion was uncomfortable and heavy in her heart. Knowledge had always been a great temptation for her.

She pressed forwards eager on the swell of their talk to deepen the connection, to find out more of the woman before her. "Tell me of yourself."

Maesa's demeanour wavered for just a moment. "Of myself?" she repeated. "What would you like to know?"

Serana began with the first logical point of interest. "Well, you know of my parents. So what of yours? Do you…well… do you get along with them?"

"They're dead." Maesa said standing and turning down river, Serana's hand still woven with her own.

'_Fool!'_ Serana admonished herself and cringed. "I'm sorry."

Maesa glance back over her shoulder, "Let us walk whilst we talk."

She nodded meekly and followed with the pace Maesa set, their hands bound as each held on for different reasons. After a few steps the Imperial spoke again. "They died a long time ago. My father in a war, my mother in childbirth." She paused and looked to Serana. "I suppose all you need to know about the war was it was about 30 years ago, fought between the Empire and the Aldmeri dominion led by the Thalmor."

"The same Thalmor who are hunting you?"

"The very same, perhaps even the same individuals who killed my father. He was a Blade, and whilst he wasn't killed in the fighting, after a peace was agreed upon, one of the terms announced was the disbanding of the blades. The Thalmor took this a stage further and two years after the fighting had ended they hunted down and murdered any and all Blades they could find."

"Including your father." Serana concluded meekly. "What was your mother? What did she do?"

Maesa's expression softened, "She was a healer. A mage attached to the Imperial City to aid the rehabilitation of the citizens. My parents had their tryst whilst they were both serving in the city, then they went their separate ways. My father was killed a few weeks after and I was born six months later."

Serana forced back a smile, thinking over what a baby Maesa would make, dark locks and serious little grey eyes blinking out at the world for the first time.

"My mother died from tearing to the wall of her womb, caused by my somewhat problematic birth. She was attended to by my aunt, also a healer." She explained all with a matter of fact tone that could almost make her appear cold, but Serana saw the glistening of her eyes and the shadow of cruel regret, and knew that the story pained her. "After my mother died, my Aunt took me to Bravil, to the temple of Mara where I was fostered by the High Priestess Nayr-Keth. I stayed there till I was eighteen, then left to wander the province, working both as a hunter and a healer."

Serana was brimming with questions but felt shy, nervous of asking what she truly wanted to know. "What of your aunt?" she asked. "Did she remain nearby?"

"No." The younger woman said firmly. "She disappeared the day she left me there and was never seen again." Despite what she said, Maesa did not seem angry. She had every right to be, Serana felt her own anger rise in sympathy, but sensed there was more to the story than perhaps she knew.

"Were you angry?"

A long drawn out sigh flooded from her as she seemed to wilt slightly. "I was. For a long time, I was constantly cursing her for abandoning me, for leaving me with strangers when I should have been with her. Nayr-Keth dealt with my tantrums with near constant patience. She eventually managed to convince me that there must have been reasons for her abandonment. After many years just as I was about to reach my sixteenth birthday, we found her reasons. The Thalmor were making inspections of the nearby cities, looking for anyone associated with 'dissident groups', both religious and political. The Blades came under the latter. Being the daughter of a Blade, even though he was long dead and we had never met, put me in danger. Nayr-Keth hid me in the crypts whilst the agents searched the chapel. Apparently they were there following up a cold case lead concerning a woman with dark hair and grey eyes." A grim smirk creased Maesa's lips. "Seems I take after my mother's family. Nayr-Keth always told me I was the spitting image of my aunt."

Serana was aghast, "After sixteen years they were still hunting your family?". She could scarcely believe it.

Maesa shrugged, "Elves live for a long time, a lot longer than humans. Time doesn't have the same shape to them as it does for others. The regional head of Skyrim, a woman called Elenwen, is grotesquely driven, I don't suppose half a century means much to her."

It wasn't meant to be a slight, but Serana felt the comparison keenly, she too would live for a long time. If she had an enemy would she hunt them for sixteen years? A dark part of her answered yes immediately.

"The Thalmor moved on eventually, but it was warning enough. Nayr-Keth started to prepare me for life outside the chapel, training me with a bow, intensifying my magic lessons. When I left it was a necessity, but there was a satisfying ring about it, it was time for me to leave, to learn what I couldn't in Bravil."

The vampire was quiet for a few moments, listening to the busy breeze as it rippled through the bare branches around them. "Why didn't you enter the priesthood?" she asked, the presence of what must have been a pious upbringing somehow not quite fitting Maesa. "Surely you would have been safe if you'd been ordained into the chapel fully."

A light trickling laugh fluttered from Maesa's lips, she smiled, and looked at Serana almost pityingly. "I would never have made a good cleric." She admitted conspiratorially. "Nayr-Keth always told me that from the moment I was placed in her arms she knew I would never be for a life of contemplation and prayer. 'You've got a little storm bottled up inside you' she was fond of telling me. I trained for a while in the preservation of scripture, copying texts and mending tomes, but I was constantly distracted by something else."

"That is how you theorise you know how long I was sleeping." Serana realised, connecting the points neatly. She felt deeply warmed by the image of a 'little storm' running merry havoc around a temple filled with dedicates and priests.

Another chuckle escaped Maesa, she appeared wistful. "Nayr-Keth named me, for the temple and for the night on which I was born." She explained. "_Ma_ for Mara, and _esa_ for Masser. I was born on the summer solstice, when Masser hangs alone in the sky. It seems silly really, but I think I've grown into the name."

Serana wanted to kiss her, but she didn't yet dare. So she watched, listened and waited patiently for the moment when her hesitance abandoned its hold, enjoying every happy story of childhood mischief that Maesa was willing to tell.


	7. Chapter 7

"Forgive me," Serana began looking at Maesa with a quip on her lips, her head tilted slightly to the side, "but I'm having trouble matching you to the image of a reckless youth, as charming as it might be."

"I had my moments, I still do on occasion." She admitted mysteriously, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "You're right in a sense though, I had to grow up very fast after leaving the chapel. Turns out priestesses and monks don't make for the most inclusive educators on wider skills."

They were not far from the city now. Serana could see its grand black walls rising proud of the landscape. Arcing up to the low stormy cloud. Ahead she could see the imposing structure of the cities bridge, wide and imposing, its edges picked out by the flickering of spluttering torchlight.

"I hope the road was not to rough." The Nord brushed her finger tips across Maesa's knuckles once again, seeping warmth slowly drowning her heart as they had remained linked through their journey from the river.

Maesa did not reply. She was watching the stones of the city, suddenly tensed and coiled, ready to spring forth if necessary. When their feet touched the first of the paved stones Maesa gently detangled herself from Serana and in a practised movement drew her hood over her head.

"We step into true Nord territory," she warned softly under her breath as she led them across, eyeing the city guards layered in furs and scaled armour. From beneath the full faced helmets Serana saw dark glistening eyes follow their every move. "The Jarl of this hold is spear heading a rebellion against the empire. As such Imperials are not overly welcomed."

"You gave the impression the Jarl would greet you." Serana whispered back, openly glaring at the watchers. She thought back to Whiterun and the talk of Ulfric and his somewhat worrying plans for the young woman beside her. She felt the tension in the air as the wind lightly rolled around them, the silent guards shifted and flexed.

"We never mentioned greeting" Maesa replied, "if Ulfric knew I was here we would be received loudly, but I'd rather avoid that for the time being. We generally argue when we meet."

Serana would know of this mysterious relationship Maesa had with the Jarl, but before she could pry further they were at the gates.

Another equally edgy looking guard barred the gateway with his presence and looked them over slowly. "Arriving a bit late aren't you?" There was little point in denying the suspicion in his voice, it was plain and obvious, more so than if he'd verbally announced it.

Maesa took the lead, making sure to keep her hood at just the right angle that it shadowed her face. "Dragon attacked the road from Whiterun, we barely made it through alive."

At the mention of a Dragon Serana could taste a sharp tang of fear on the air. "Damn monster!" The guard cursed quietly, fidgeting from one foot to the other. "Still, what brings you to the city in the first place?" It seemed his paranoia was not so easily satisfied.

"Thalmor agents are sweeping Whiterun, they arrived a day ago bringing their hate and idiocy."

The guard moved a little closer, peering at Maesa, then Serana, though the pique of his interest appeared with the Imperial. "Why should I believe that? You could be spies yourselves for all I know. For the Thalmor or the Empire. How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Serana had not seen any true representation of the conflict before now. Hearing the guards distrust and his fear not far behind filled her with a new trepidation, perhaps she had underestimated the Thalmor.

"Your Captain. Calder. Ask him to come and confirm my lack of hostility if you're determined to keep us out in the cold." Maesa's use of the name was so casual Serana might have been under the impression he had little weight in the city, but on seeing the sudden rigidity that seemed to seize the guard she let herself indulge in a secretive smirk.

"Calder is…" he hesitated, "…elsewhere tonight. But you can pass. Keep your head down and your nose out of official business and we'll have no problems." With that he stepped aside and let the two cloaked, unnamed women through the gate.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Serana had read about Windhelm in many of her books. The city of the Kings, the grandest of all Nord settlements. Beyond the tall imposing walls however lay squalor and broken down buildings. Everywhere she looked she could see structures in desperate need of repair, walls crumbling, pavements pock marked and cracked. The sight seemed to sap the colour from the world, turning everything to a dark, damp grey.

Hanging from a rickety upright swung a battered sign. 'Candlehearth Hall'. Serana thought it looked about as far from Nordic architecture as you could be, but considered that perhaps it was simply a later addition to the city.

Maesa wasted little time and immediately headed for the 'Hall'. Serana followed closely until someone nearby called out to the Imperial. She visibly cringed as her name echoed and rang off the stony walls. Maesa turned to their right and lifted her hand in greeting as a tall, young Altmer woman approached.

"Good evening Niranye." Maesa said politely, bobbing her head slightly. "You're out late."

Niranye swept forward and hugged the shorter woman briefly, "I could say the same about you." She gave a short but pleasant enough laugh. "I wasn't expecting to see you. What brings you to Windhelm?"

An all too familiar prickle caught and pulled at the skin between Serana's brows, she needed to supress this, lest it cause her constant distraction.

The pretty, young, Imperial gave a casual good natured shrug, "Enjoying the weather, what else?" Before the elf could answer she continued. "Suffice to say a change of scenery was much needed. How have things been here?"

Niranye spoke a little of business and a few bits of local gossip. It wasn't until the golden skinned mer tuned to Serana that the vampire truly took notice.

"And who is this?"

The question was delivered without a hint of malice but Serana still tensed at the direct address.

"This is Serana," Maesa splayed her fingers out towards her companion. "She's travelling with me for a while."

Niranye bobbed her head, "A pleasure." Serana returned the gesture. "You're a Nord. You'll get along here well." It seemed a strangely out of place sentence to say. Though in the face of what Maesa had already explained perhaps it was justified.

"Will you take rooms at Candlehearth?" the Altmer asked Maesa.

"Yes, if Elda will have me."

Niranye brushed aside Maesa's concerns. "Don't worry. Your human, and in the company of a 'true daughter of Skyrim'. She'd playing up her hatred of dunmer at the moment rather than Imperials, but still watch of for Nils. He still hates you."

Maesa visibly cringed. "I'll buy food elsewhere then I think."

"Probably wise. But I've kept you from your beds too long as it is." Niranye turned from them and waved goodbye over her shoulder. "Stop by sometime and see me before you move on again."

And she disappeared into the night.

"Shall we go in?" Maesa asked after a moment, holding her hand out towards the twin heavy set doors and hunched roof. Serana considered the building again. If she had to place money upon her guess she would wager the building had some Chimer influences.

She gave an agreeing nod to Maesa and the pair ascended the slippery wet stairs, entering the fire warmed embrace of the hall.

There was a small cramped room just beyond the doorway. Dark, lit by a single greasy lantern resting on an elbow high bar, behind which sat an aging Nord, her dusty blonde hair peppered with streaks of grey, braided and tied away from a slowly aging face.

She'd locked her bright little brown eyes on them as soon as they'd entered, sizing them up as they simultaneously lowered their hoods.

When she saw Maesa's face a flicker of recognition darted across her expression. "Back again." She observed, leaning back slightly from the bar as the young woman approached. "You want a room, or just a drink?"

This Elda, for that was who Serana assumed it to be, was not exactly rude, but extremely business like. For some reason the clear difference didn't seem to affect her immediate dislike for the woman.

"Yes. Two if you have them, relatively long term, till I can find something more permanent." Maesa seemed unfazed.

Elda shook her head, "Only got the one room. You and your…" She looked Serana up and down. "…friend, will have to share if you both want a bed."

The look was brief. Maesa was asking her, silently with nothing more than the lift of her brow.

Though Serana's heart was beating furiously and her head felt dizzy, she gave a simple shrug, hoping fiercely Maesa would understand its meaning.

"We'll take it for two nights." The Imperial announced extracting the correct money from a small leather pouch and laying it on the scratched surface of the bar. Elda looked at the money, then fetched a key from underneath the counter, laying it down rather than passing it to the woman.

"Thankyou." Maesa said quietly, she made sure to keep a steady eye contact with the old Nord, till finally Elda took the money.

Serana followed as Maesa took the key and walked swiftly to the left of the bar, through a narrow passageway leading to short corridor, just as poorly lit.

"Here." She stopped before a small wooden door and slid the wrought iron key into the lock. "The reception doesn't usually get any warmer." She explained quietly as they entered.

"You've been here before." Serana observed.

"A few times", she stepped aside and let the Nord enter before closing and locking the door, leaving the key half turned back again to make certain that no one could enter the room.

It wasn't very well adorned. It could easily be considered shabby. Serana could never see them being truly comfortable here. It was small, with only the bare essentials in furniture and it reeked of a temporary fix, impossible to settle in.

"Is it just the war that's created all these divisions?" Serana asked, shrugging off her heavy cloak and laying it over the one and only chair, whilst Maesa knelt to tend the meagre fire place.

"No." She answered, piling up wood from a small worn wicker basket and stacking it neatly in the hearth. "It's been brewing for years, ever since the Oblivion Crisis."

Another historic event Serana had slept through. She tried not to think too much about it. Instead she waited for the woman to elaborate, unfortunately silence followed.

Maesa seemed intent on the fire. She piled the split wood with great care, stacking it in a neat little pattern. She tucked a piece of burnt rag tentatively beneath the wood and lit its end with a flickering, weak fire spell. The flames rose steadily and with patience she tended them until they grew strong and healthy, feeding them logs and then coal, coaxing out of them a strong smoky warmth that flooded the room pleasantly.

Satisfied with her work Maesa stood free of the fireplace, and walked over to the little rickety chair, removing her cloak, and laying atop of Serana's. Seeing that she was unlikely to get a reply without further prompting, the Nord resigned her self temporarily to the menial task of removing her boots, her fingers finding the buckles and ties easily. She tucked them beneath the far end of the bed and sat upon the fur covers, folding her long legs beneath herself, happy for a few moments to sit silently and watch as Maesa began to remove her armour.

It was only for a few moments though. "What was the Oblivion Crisis?" she asked, a colourless blush seeping into her chest hotly as Maesa pulled free of her cuirass.

The Imperial was quiet when she spoke, deliberate and almost haunted. "Worshippers of Mehrunes Dagon, calling themselves the Order of the Mythic Dawn, tried to summon their lord so he would inhabit the plane of Nirn. I don't need to tell you how bad that would have been had they succeeded. In short a Bosmer woman, Nirae, came along and fought against the Mythic Dawn and their Lord. She had help from an order called the Blades, and the bastard son of the last emperor. They defeated the daedra in battle within the heart of the Imperial City, but the emperor's son died ending the bloodline." Maesa was laying out each piece of her armour with great care, making sure not to leave any piece resting crooked or improperly laced. She began the untying of her boots as she explained further. "The Order of the Mythic Dawn opened many gateways to Oblivion, Nirae closed those she could reach, she apparently drove herself to an early grave doing it. The gates were everywhere though, on every continent. She never managed to reach the Summerset Isles, where the Altmer hail. The devastation there was total. In the chaos the royal family was overthrown and the population was desperate for a solution to their problems. The Thalmor were a fringe political movement then, largely ignored, but somehow they managed to do what no one else could, they closed the gates and ended the crisis on Altmer shores. Suffice to say they rode their success right to the peak of political power and they've held on ever since." Maesa finished her tale with even greater solemnity, tugging away her boots and stowing them beside Serana's.

The Nord began to get an inkling of the game she had stepped into. These were not some radical sideliners, whose presence people tolerated. The Thalmor were players of a game that spanned nations, there reach clasping at the thrones of at least two kingdoms. She felt a small child playing in the dust between bellowing warriors, each stamping their feet a hairs width from her fingers, she would be broken if she was not alert.

"The bad blood between the Nords and the Dunmer is far more recent." Maesa continued on. She seated herself on the bed, a little way from Serana, but easily reachable should the touch be required. Her deft tanned, fingers worked at the binding tying back her hair, teasing apart the knot, letting the curls hang loose amidst her shoulders. "Ulfric was caught by the Thalmor during the war. He was tortured, and made to believe during this torture that he'd given away vital information that led to the fall of the Imperial City. He returned home traumatised and seeking revenge for his pains. He took out his anger on the nearest population of mer, and made targets of the Dunmer in his hold."

Serana saw a flash of silver from beneath Maesa's clothing, just below the hollow of her neck. She'd twisted slightly to run a hand through her freed hair, ruffling the collar of her shirt, scrunching up the fabric just enough to reveal the hint of a necklace, with a heaving pendant at its end.

The Nord's curiosity was pushed back by all this new information. She had so much to learn, so much to catch up on. Where to start? How did you learn a whole new world?

"Do you mind?" The younger woman asked, catching Serana quite off guard.

"Pardon?" She replied, certain she had not missed any predefining explanation.

Maesa lay a hand between them, stretching out the fingers amidst the fur. "Do you mind sharing a bed?" The slight hint of a blush crept up her neck, making the other woman momentarily breathless.

She smiled, hoping to cover her distraction. "I don't mind." She said. In the light of Maesa's embarrassment she felt something strange. A bubbling tickle in the centre of her chest, a playfulness. She calmly and steadily lay her own hand over Maesa's, all the while wearing a pleasant smile. "Do you mind?" she asked.

The Imperial's eyes darted down to Serana's hand. She hesitated for a brief instance, flexing her smallest finger minutely. "I… No… I don't think so…" She tried to move her hand away, but Serana held it firmly beneath her own. The vampire saw the muscles of her neck swallow. "Hopefully I'll be able to arrange something better tomorrow." Maesa reasoned, her quivering supressed beneath a façade of planning. "Unfortunately that means I'll have to go see Ulfric." She visibly cringed.

Serana's curiosity reared its head once again and won out over her teasing. She released the other woman's hand and leant back, settling herself comfortably against the head board. "Why do you dislike Ulfric so much? What is it her asks of you?"

"An alliance." Maesa said shortly, her eyes glinting. "He is a great leader, charismatic and bold, but he's also a short sighted boy, who throws a tantrum when political matters don't go his way. He's so blinded by his hatred of the Thalmor, he can't see that his little rebellion is playing right into their hands."

"But why you?" Serana asked. "Why does he want an alliance with you?"

Maesa drew away, both with her body and her words. She was reluctant to answer it seemed, the distance she wished to lay down rolling off her like a rough tide, forcing the Nord back a few steps. "I have… some sway in the politics of the province." She replied quietly.

Serana knew Maesa well enough, even in the short days of their companionship, that this was a grand understatement. She placed firmly on her brow a look her mother had used on her on numerous occasions, where nothing bust the most absolute truth would suffice. With it set she focused it on Maesa and pressed her silently to elaborate.

"I keep my own privacy keenly Serana." She admitted hushed and secretive in tone. "I and those close to me purposely spread false rumour and gossip, drawing not only the Thalmor away, but all others who want something from me. Ulfric was unfortunately witness to my identity from the very beginning, and as such has sort in the past to blackmail me with it."

This answered little of Serana's original question, yet at the same time it did reveal a little more of the circumstances of Maesa's story. "Tell me. Please." She begged. "I can see it hanging over your head like a storm cloud. Trust me with its name." She reached out and found Maesa's hand once again, only this time as she held it there was no hint of teasing.

Maesa soon looked away, her fingers limp and motionless in Serana's hold. "A person deserves to be more and less than a title." It was delivered with not small amount of melancholy and Serana felt her chest grow tight from its sound. "I want you to see me, Serana. Not a figure or a title, just me. I trust you enough that I want you to know me. That is a far more precious liberty."

She would speak no more of it that night and Serana did not press her. It felt as if a strange formless barrier had been erected between them, invisible and fathomless it truly held no manner with which to retrain them but still she knew it was there.

Maesa fell asleep first that night, curled over loosely, her face resting in her halo of dark curls. Serana knew she was asleep for after a moment's hesitation she reached out and touched her loosely clasped fingers. Her lack of reaction made her bolder, and tenderly, as if she were cradling a fluttering moth she brushed the tips of her knuckles across her cheek.

A mumble made her snatch her hand back, though she needn't have worried. Maesa's breath fell just as easily as it had before, her dreams making her eyelashes flutter.

She longed to reach out again, but she didn't wish to wake her. Resigning herself to a fingers width gap between their hands she settled herself beside her mortal and bid the sleeping woman a fond, silent, goodnight.


	8. Chapter 8

When she awoke she was alone, the room around her silent, deserted, and cold.

After her initial puzzlement she did not panic. Most of Maesa's belongings were still neatly laid out on the chair. The only things absent, her boots and her cloak. Serana reasoned that the younger woman might have gone to settle matters with Ulfric, whatever matters they might be. Though she was a little irked that she would go and do so without her, she none the less accepted the desire for solitude.

Certain that she was alone in their room and unobserved, she looked beside where she lay, the covers still rutted and twisted. She splayed her fingers wide and slipped her hand into the depression left, tracing the ghost of the warmth. She couldn't have left long ago. She moved higher to the pillow, the shape of her mortal's face pressed into the loosely stitched construct. There she ran her fingertips over where Maesa cheek had rested, seeking out the shadow of her presence.

"Murder!"

A cry came from beyond the door, making Serana jolt as it shattered the peace. Many voices answered the call, and soon a tumultuous clamour rose up.

She stumbled from the bed and dressed quickly as the thunder of many feet passed near the door. She tried to catch the half shouted words cried out in their passing but could hear nothing until the stampede had settled. Then it was Gilda's voice she found, barking in the bellow of a sea captain over a storm.

"Who is it boy?" Her voice carried easily through the stone walls.

"Dunno." The messenger stuttered. "Didn't stay around long enough to find out, there was so much blood. Definitely a woman though, she'd been stripped."

The lesser cousin of panic set into Serana's chest, her heart began to quicken its rhythm. She admonished herself. There were no doubt tens of women in the city, why did she think for one moment that it could be her?

"Well?" Gilda pressed. There was a short pause, then, just as Serana's hand touched the door, the walls were shaken by the fierce Nord's screech. "WHAT DID SHE LOOK LIKE?"

The stumbling young man tripped and spilled over many half begun sentences, until finally he managed to force out a description, his words becoming crystal clear as Serana pushed the door open. "She had dark hair, and she was shorter than most folks. She's laid up in the cemetery."

Serana must have worn her horror on her face, for when Gilda turned and caught sight of her she stopped in her tracks, at complete loss for what to say. She clutched the boys shoulder in a vice like grip as he began to speak again, silencing him in all but a whimper.

"She's not with you?" She uttered quietly. When Serana could not answer, Gilda pointed to the door. "The graveyard is to the right of here. Talos protect her soul if it's her."

She was out the door, into the icy air before the last syllable left Gilda's lips. She took in little of the day, it was grey, lifeless. It would remain so until she saw the blush of life in Maesa's cheeks once again. She slipped and slid through the slush and muddy water, curling her fingers tightly around the slick stones of the rocky wall as she rounded its corner at reckless speed.

Off the main street, whose wide expanse they had covered the day before, lay a long dark space, punctuated invasively by protruding monuments to the long dead. It gave the impression of a mostly neglected place. Avoided where possible, its imaginary borders skirted around by suspicious locals, whose lives had been long separated from the deceased. Now it was populated perversely by the breathing, morbidly excited, and loud living.

Serana stopped at the upper dais of the smooth descending stairs, those that linked the house of the dead to the main street. She need not intrude further. From that high vantage she saw all she needed to see. The corpse, at the centre of the babbling crowd, was laid bare upon the frozen lid of a tomb, it's almost blue limbs splayed wildly, caught in the panic of the moment before death. There at the centre of the chest, between the breasts, was a blush of crimson, the edges of a wide neat cut exposed to the air, the ivory gleam of ribs peeking through the flesh.

Serana turned away from the sight, leaning heavily on the slabs of stone, gaping and gagging for a moment, spit and bile choking her mouth. Then with one forced step, she lurched away, eager to leave the body behind. The body that was not Maesa. The body of a tall, blonde Nord.

The streets fell away from her, her direction lost quickly, as she wandered blindly. Was it some cruel trick that the boy had seen a short dark haired woman on the slab? True that the frame could distort the body, make it seem smaller. It was the same with coffins, though that was often linked to unrealistic expectations of the dead, the impact of life strongly lived in a decaying body. Perhaps the blood had confused the lad, perhaps he had seen its stain and in his panic he had assumed it was hair. Viewed in a glance the mind could fill in many blank spaces.

Her wits came back to her slowly, relief seeping back to her steadily, sharpening her mind, clearing her sight. She spied a lonely alley way, caught between two buildings with tightly shuttered windows, a high wall at its end. Retreating into the peace it offered, she leant against the leftmost, silent, dwelling and pressed the top of her head back into the brickwork, looking up to the sky, following the drifting clouds. A shaky sigh snaked its way to her lips and she let it escape in a misty puff. A misty sleet began to wet the world. She let her mind drift.

A cool breeze swept through the narrow streets of the city. Twisting and turning this way and that, wending its way past the residents and travellers alike. It skimmed over tiled apex, and danced across frozen puddle, picking up and carrying the scent of dark waters and ice on its current. It neared Serana's hiding place, with no purpose or motive, it was a breath, a little voice in the song of the sky. Circumstance alone made it a vehicle for tragedy. Just as it neared the end of the street it kissed the cheek of a passer-by. A woman, with stormy eyes and dark hair.

On the sink of a breath she caught something on the air that made her jolt. Hot, bitter tang. The draw of it would not be denied. It led her to the entrance of the alleyway. She froze as the stench rushed her. Blood. Rich and heady, the sensation of the scent was seductive.

The street beyond was quiet, the population at the graveyard it seemed, all except for one figure, walking with purpose. Though in plain sight the misty miasma cloaking the being was non-existent, it was a wash of garish colour for Serana. A beam of light in a dark cavern.

It would pass by her, closely, just enough for her to wrap her arms around, to take hold. The scent swelled as the luckless being approached, shrouded in a cloak of deep dark blue. An itch, a hollow hole that collapsed its own walls around itself, that is was occupied her very senses.

She lunged and caught the woman by the waist, pulled back her back, stuffing her cry with her palm pressed firmly over her mouth. Then pushed the mortal into the wall of the dwelling that had moments before been her restful retreat. A sharp cry was uttered by her victim, the hood of their cloak crumpled and fell away with the force of her action.

A tumble of dark hair swept down coppery cheeks. Her instincts were ground to a halt by her horror, her silencing hand fell away.

"Maesa" she said on a breath.

With bleary eyes that shined wetly with tears, the young woman peered up at her, confused, surprised. Her sight hazy she actually smiled. Then a bolt of red shattered Serana's restraint, the hum descended.

There on her cheek, a cut the width of a bodkin arrow, its edges puffy and fresh, painted vibrant with a streak of sticky blood. Serana pressed her lips to the flesh and ran her tongue across the wound. It might have been fresh, but the clotting had already begun, there was little liquid blood to be had. Just a taste. A taste was enough to urge her hunger to a desperation that smothered her being.

Maesa was urgently saying her name, her hands pushing her back, only to be trapped between them as the Nord surged forward again. Somehow she managed to use the weight thrown against her to manoeuvre them both. Serana was aware of little until a door slammed behind them and the grey light of the wintery sky was shut away.

Using her confusion, Maesa shoved the woman back fiercely. The movement was awkward and staggeringly reluctant, causing them both to tumble to the wooden floor boards. They landed a little way from each other, giving just enough time for the mortal woman to scramble to her feet, her scuffing boots and ripping cloak catching amber eyes, once warm, now cold.

Serana rose to her feet slowly, turning her head to follow every shaky step Maesa took up the creaking stair. She could feel the ghost of the irony tang on her tongue. A phantom was not enough now, a memory had no purpose to her. It was nothing when so much was amply standing a few strides away. Each time her feet echoed the frightened woman's step it was deliberate, certain, she knew what she wanted. She'd take it.

Maesa's back met a stone wall. In shock she glanced over her shoulder for a second too long. Tired of the chase, Serana drew up sharply, took that second, and leapt the short distance. She caught Maesa's arm as at the last moment the Imperial managed to dive aside, out of the narrow hallway, into the main dwelling space of the seemingly abandoned house. Serana followed her down as she tripped, wrenching her arm painfully back, pulling her into her body till they were pressed together so tightly Serana could feel the rise and fall of her chest.

Without a hesitation she found a strong vein in the coppery neck and bit, releasing the blood into her mouth. Then she drank, and the world fell away into a thick haze.

The woman below her fought for only a minute or so, she grew weaker in her arms, gradually each punch and kick lost its potency, each wild flail became a shudder. Her fingers came to rest lightly on Serana's collar bone, their touch leaving a shimmer of ice on her skin. She was slowly growing cold.

Somewhere within, just below where she felt the end of her airways, where the core lay, the origins of every heartache and bolt of panic, came a whisper of her sanity, calling out through the blood lust.

As she drank, drawing out the hot, metallic liquid, the whisper grew. Louder and louder. Until with a cry that shook her bones, she stopped, and released the flesh of her friend.

Maesa sank at once away from her, crumpling like wet paper onto the floor, her limbs rolling away from her body, casting out like sea kelp on the tide, pale and cold. There was no cry. No immediate outrage at what she'd done. It didn't transpire in the way the skalds had sung.

Serana couldn't speak. Couldn't utter a sound. She remained quite still, legs bent to either side, staring. Her lips parted the width of a breath.

Her face was turned towards Serana, it was blank.

The eyes were closed. As were the lips. The cheeks were colourless. She might have been sleeping, had it not been for the expression. There was none. No peace, no anger, nor fear. It was as if a novice had attempted to capture a life, but had only been able to sketch the shapes and not the essence.

Grace and tragic beauty had no place here. Bards and poets spouted a serene morbidity to the actions of those in their works. They had heard romanticised tales of loss, few had actually witnessed grief. Those who had… had no desire to write or sing of something so utterly empty.

A wordless, formless, scraping bellow that tore gashes in her throat, broke from Serana in a roar. Clumsily, scratching at clothing and dying skin, she clawed the limp body back into her arms, leaving marks and tears. She became bestial in her howls. She beat at the floor, rocking her knees as she cradled the body. Her mouth drew wide and gulped wildly at the air, as her breathing became rushed and frantic. She fell into herself, lowering her head, tucking it into the body. Tears streaking hot burning furrows on her cheeks.

No there was no romanticism to this. How could anybody make such tragic irony beautiful, no beauty ever existed in death.

She whispered apologies into the dying woman's ear, leaving traces of her own blood on her cheek. Then, for the first time, in all her years of life, Serana, daughter of a servant to Molag Bal, being of daedric blessing, prayed to beings that turned their backs on the likes of her.

The words were rusty on her tongue. She'd known the names in her youth, she'd read them in passage and heard them on the lips of the dying, but she'd rarely spoken them.

"Shor, Alduin, Tsun, Ysmir, Dibella, Mara, Stuhn, Jhunal, Kyne." She gasped out the names, bumbling the sounds, speaking them with every shake of her body as she convulsed. The words fell hollow, so she spoke them again. And again. And again.

On and on, saying their names like a mantra, intoning into every syllable her hopes, precious and shattering. "Shor, Alduin, Tsun, Dibella, Mara, Stuhn, Jhunal, Kyne."

She tried them separately, begging each one in turn. She came to Mara and wept to her, the divine who had shaped so much of Maesa's life, wishing as only the stricken could. Serana could remember distantly her temple. A haven of smoky incense and chanted prayer, punctuated by the scent of rose petals. She called on the memory, rocking back and forth, her head bowed low.

"Let her live, Mara, goddess of love and promise." She wept feverishly. "Let her live, send her back to me. Please. Please." She repeated the word till it became meaningless.

When she stopped, the silence around her was deafening. Nothing stirred to aid in her plight. The world moved just had it had always done, ambivalent and disinterested.

Half uttered moans and whimpers replaced all sense and sound. She found it difficult to breathe. With every onslaught of realisation, she felt herself fraying.

"Don't leave me alone" she sobbed wretchedly, twisting the fabric of the blood soaked dress tightly in her fists. "Shor, Alduin, Tsun, Ysmir, Dibella, Mara, Stuhn, Jhunal, Kyne. Gods bring her back. Just let her live."

In the lowest pit of despair, in that numbness, where already too much has been felt, using a part of her she'd long thought destroyed, Serana found she still had the capacity to break and be broken. It seemed she would always find herself broken.

The pound of a beat, like thunder, cut through all melodies.

The scent of lavender, winter spice and summer rain lit the dust in the air. The abandoned house, bore sanctuary to a touch, frozen in the folds of a moment. Time had no power, it retreated solemnly, bowed low before the watcher. The watcher over dark waters. The watcher of two travellers. The watchers of whispered words.

The rush of satin sweeping over stone, the hiss of sharp gales, the bitter sweetness of a last kiss, these the substance but not the body. Shimmering into a shape, fathomless and formless, came something hidden, and kept so by fate and histories long woven. No lurking leach hailed the summons this occasion.

Long came the longing, aching deeply in an endless expanse, ever rolling out like a tide, sweeping up and growing in each timeless measure that it remained. The presence swept low. It pressed a feather brush to the heart of the near dead, and there it breathed life. Sweet, precious life.

Then it was gone, and time was given back its dominance, though in its supremacy it had to surrender one soul.

A heartbeat signalled the continuation. A heartbeat that Serana caught, calling out.

She wept anew, cradling and kissing the face of the living, the breathing, the impossible woman lain on her lap. Soon guilt would rear its pain, but for now, for that heartbeat and those after that followed the stealing of time, all that she had the heart to feel was joy. Happily, she let it drown her.


	9. Chapter 9

The metal pan clung to the skin on her hands painfully, as the snow within slowly began to melt. At the centre it was still very much frozen, but around the edge there was gathering just enough water for purpose. Carefully Serana placed the pan on the floor and dipped a cleanly torn rag from her cloak into it. The icy water made her fingers sting but it was less than pointless to react to it further than to merely grit her teeth. Ringing out the excess before she stood from her chair, she reached across the warming body before her and began to dab at the foul stain.

Maesa had been asleep for a while now. She'd barely stirred, even when Serana had moved her to the dusty, thread bare bed that had been forgotten in the corner of the dim house. The sight of it, her blood, now drew nothing more from Serana than disgust. Her madness and her hunger had disappeared like a sea mist, leaving little trace, only the destruction left by those lost in it. The very smell made her sick to her gut.

Steadily she rubbed the drying blood away, revealing a smear of newly blooming crimson as the water temporarily rejuvenated the colour.

She couldn't afford to think. She'd cripple herself if she stopped and considered what had happened. Better to carry on. To not think. Just let her hands guide her. She needed to clean the wound. She needed to let Maesa rest. Then she needed to get them out of this draughty shack. What came after would be up to Maesa, she dare not let herself hope for what came after.

She was so warm when Serana's fingers brushed her jaw, it was quite unintentional, but a shaken sigh escaped her, pent up, let free if only for a moment. Then she threw herself into the work. Luckily blood from skin came away easily. The clothing would probably have to be burnt, no amount of scrubbing could remove the stiff, dark stain from the blue cotton.

As she worked, she realised she could not find the wound. The place into which she had sunk her teeth, it wasn't there. She couldn't see it, even when she'd scrubbed every last residue of the blood away.

She sat back and shook, dropping the rag carelessly onto the floor. There should be a mark. There should be torn flesh, cuts, bruising. Smooth, unbroken, perfect skin. This wasn't… this couldn't…

From her neck, to the sleeping woman's face and back again. She studied, and watched, wanting and needing some explanation to this.

She was willing, just, to take Maesa's survival on divine blessing. That notion had made its awkward, certain place in her mind, even though it pushed and drove long held resistances dangerously close to the fringes. This? This was something else. More than anything that had happened up till then, this scared her.

Her temptations terrified her. A hair, a single tiny fragment of her being, wanted to push this. It sought a knife, a blade, a fang, to cut and see if a scar remained, and it disgusted Serana.

She stood sharply from the chair and threw herself far from the bed, colliding with a thump into the stone wall by the stairs. She slumped down its brickwork, sliding till she crumpled onto the floor. She wasn't that monster. She didn't want to hurt Maesa for the curiosity. She didn't want to cut her and make her bleed just to test her half formed theory. She began to cry, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

"I'm not that monster." She whispered to herself, not bothering to wipe at her damp cheeks. Her voice broke into a sob, "I'm not my parents." A whole new prophecy plagued her mind, one that had been written into the nature of all things, far older than she. A constant, hated notion that took its hold over all indiscriminately.

The notion to rise, to run, for her safety as well as Maesa's, grew in her. It was unwelcome. She wanted almost nothing more than to stay. The one thing she did want more was to escape time, to erase with a stroke all that had happened that day in the presence of this orphaned house. To run might very well have been the kinder thing to do, for them both, especially for Maesa.

If in nothing else but this however, Serana would remain stubbornly selfish.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

It was several hours before Maesa awoke. Serana spent the time slipping further and further into her guilt. Despair was a strange bedfellow but she settled into the familiarity of its presence. The Imperial woman woke gradually, murmuring slightly then turning, her breath becoming a little more defined, her movements surer.

Serana watched her from across the room, she was sat her back against the stones, as far as she could be while still remaining in the confines of the house. Groggily Maesa opened her haunting grey eyes and she searched for her immediately. When she found her she wordlessly stared, her lips parted as if to speak but uncertain of the words.

Serana knew not how either. How to begin after what had happened.

"Are you sitting over there because you're afraid you'll hurt me again?" She said, softly spoken, quietly asked.

"Yes" Serana answered, voice dry after hours of self-inflicted silence.

"And would you? If you had the choice would you do that again?"

"No." She replied. "Never."

"Were you in control?"

The cowards answer would have been no. Serana knew it lay ready and eager on the tip of her tongue. 'No' would correct everything. She'd be forgiven because the fault would lay elsewhere. But it wouldn't be right. She'd be lying.

Serana _had_ realised what she'd been doing. She'd been just as excited as terrified when she'd realised it was Maesa. She could have stopped, should have. She couldn't bear the weight of such a lie.

"I knew what I was doing." She admitted purposefully making her voice cold. "I knew I was killing you."

When left alone with the persistent voice of guilt and hindsight, actions and thoughts are often misremembered.

She didn't know what she was hoping to achieve. She didn't know whether she was trying to goad Maesa into forgiving her or trying to drive her away. She didn't know, her words were running alone.

"I'm not dead." Maesa said firmly, laying quite still, her pale eyes blinking rarely. "When did you last feed Serana, truthfully?"

Serana grimaced both outwardly and inwardly. "I haven't," she explained. Gone was the time for easing out the truth. There was no time for gentle births. "I haven't fed since my mother sealed me in the tomb."

Silence followed between them. Distantly the murmurings of the city continued and the day drew into dusk.

"How is it you were not overcome before?" The young woman asked after a long, seemingly passive, contemplation. "We have seen blood surely. So why was it mine that triggered such a reaction? Was it merely the passage of time?" She seemed to be pondering aloud rather than truly asking for Serana's opinion. If the Nord could glance inside her head at that moment she might have better understood Maesa. The birthing of many ideas soon to be picked apart and reformed as time crumbled their foundations.

Serana longed to draw nearer, but her trust in herself had been shaken. She didn't want to hurt Maesa. It had been so close to a dire disaster she could not bear the possibility of it happening again.

"There was a mechanism that spilled my blood." Maesa recalled, her words slow and deliberate as she remembered step by step the actions of that fateful day. She looked down at her right hand, a thing scar stretching the back of her hand that Serana had not noticed before. "It flowed down carved channels to the chamber you were inside. Perhaps it is only my blood because it is the only blood you have consumed since your slumber ended."

The fact that Maesa was drawing towards a similar conclusion comforted Serana in a small sense. They had a hypothesis, but she was uncomfortable pinning the entire attraction of Maesa's blood purely on simple circumstance.

"How long have I been asleep?" Maesa asked, her gaze flitting back to Serana smoothly.

"A few hours," she replied. "I couldn't wake you, you were too weak."

The Imperial cringed. "With the murder the last thing we need is to draw suspicion towards ourselves, especially not drenched in blood."

Serana looked down at herself, there were a few flecks of dried blood on her crimson shirt, but she was largely clean. Maesa was not. Her entire left shoulder was drenched, and now her once blue dress had dried a red brown.

Serana was angry. "Why don't you send me away?" she demanded as the younger woman began to stretch out her limbs, preparing to get out of bed. When she didn't answer Serana continued. "You should be scared, you should scream and shout. I almost killed you! No. I did kill you. You stopped breathing, you were growing cold. Yet you still talk of an us? You should be scared of me. You should be terrified."

"Because I don't understand you I should therefore be terrified?" Maesa eased herself out of the bed and shakily stood free of its support. "Is that what you think?"

"Yes." Serana answered without hesitation.

Maesa looked disappointed. "I'm not dead Serana. You didn't kill me, you stopped. Yes I don't understand why you started, but neither do I understand the strain and torment that your condition entails. A mortal is driven to commit dreadful acts of barbarity when starving, no matter past tendencies or morality. I cannot imagine what a precise and pointed desire so narrow as to only be sated by one substance would do to a mind."

Ice prickled in Maesa's gaze when she next spoke. "And you were starving weren't you? You hadn't eaten or drank for that matter in two weeks."

She hated how sheepish the mortal woman could make her feel, with that withering glare. How incredibly young it cast her, as if she were a scolded child. Rather than admit to anything she forced herself to return Maesa's gaze and told the woman stoically "You are infuriating."

Not even the slightest hint of humour cast its softening qualities over Maesa's face when she answered. "No more than you are."

The air was cool between them as they stubbornly called eachother out, neither relenting nor conceding their ground.

"Where is my cloak?" Maesa asked frostily.

Serana jabbed her finger towards where it lay, where she had place it, folded neatly on an old chair beside the bed. The Imperial donned it swiftly, making certain to cover the bloodstains with the unmarked heavy folds.

The Nord could still smell the blood. It hung thickly in the air, lacing all other scents with its heavy, sickly aroma. They would just have to hope no one else noticed.

She picked herself up off the floor, finding her bones stiff, her joints creaking as she put her weight upon them. The memory of their warm room in Candlehearth hall sated her motivation and she turned to lead the way back out into the street.

"Serana, wait…"

She stopped at her name, haulted. Her body refused to move till Maesa released her, her words a spell and curse muddled together.

The stench of blood became stronger. She knew Maesa had approached her, and that now she was close enough to touch. She feared her touch. She didn't think she could stand to be touched while she wore the perfume of her own doom so heavily, not while she knew she was the reason for its lingering presence.

Luck granted her a reprieve as Maesa stopped short. She could sense the hesitance, the slight tremble as the air waited anticipating words that were at the tip of tongues struck sullen.

"We'll talk later."

It was disappointing. Serana felt deflated as she watched Maesa move past her and descend the steps to the front door. She was tempted to demand a now, not later, but she did truly long for their little room. That small space where they had been so comfortable the day before. Laying side by side soundly. As if the room could make the last few hours disappear. As if it could take away the terrible guilt that Serana felt as she looked at her, turning the depravity ever over and over in her memories.

The Imperial woman carefully lifted the rusted latch and peeked out into the street. From what Serana could see it had passed dusk, the street was quiet and the pale moonlight glistened damply off the snow and slush.

As precisely as she'd opened it, Maesa closed the door again, resting her paled palm against the wood. "It would be better if we were not seen leaving together." She said quietly. "Wait here for a few minutes then follow me. Alright?"

So the separating began. "Fine." She replied.

Another hesitance followed but it was shorter this time, they both knew that neither would say anything to the other.

Maesa nodded silently then pulled the door fully open and walked out, pushing it closed again behind her.

Serana waited a few moments, then cracked open a gap just wide enough to peer through and watched Maesa's back as she walked casually down the dimly lit street.

With every step her heart ached, she could barely stand to stop herself running after her. It became worse the moment she turned the corner and disappeared from view. Serana felt the emptiness of the abandoned house creep forward, joining with the emptiness within, drawing her being into itself into the dark endless space at her core.

She closed the door and rested her forehead against the damp wood, clenching her eyes tightly shut forcing back the sting of unshed tears.

Her eyes snapped open. She tore the door aside and ran out into the street. Following the trodden powder of her footsteps, barely a minute old.

She'd heard it. As if the words had been bellowed into her ear. Maesa had screamed her name.

She followed not only the footprints but the stench of blood. It had taken on a whole new quality. It was no longer rank and odorous, it was edged with the tang of life. It was fresh.

She rounded the corner. Back into the main furrow fair of the city with the Inn right at the centre. There she saw it, a great splatter of blood soaking into the snow, with Maesa at its heart, a hand clamped around her shoulder the other clawing at the face of her assailant. A man, a Nord, straddling her waist.

A rage quite unlike any she had known before, possessed her in that moment. She swept forward and grabbed the man by the neck, heaving him upwards then throwing him to the side, straight into the wall of the Inn. The attacker hit the stones with a crack and thump, landing at an uncomfortable angle in a great heap in the banked snow. He swiftly lost her interest.

Maesa was writhing and groaning, her limbs curling inwards tightly. Serana knelt at her side and, using the edge of her own cloak, applied pressure to the heavily bleeding fissure in Maesa's flesh. The woman bit back many cries but did not attempt to push her away.

There were many shouts and calls around them, people had emerged with lanterns from the inn, some of the city guards running from the gates. Serana saw a few of the guards and townsfolk run after the attacker but many stayed gawping and gaping at them.

"Don't just stand there!" Came a booming voice thick with an accent Nords now seemed proficient in. A grisly man donned in heavy armour, adorned with the same symbols as the guards, strode through the immobilised crowd. He grabbed the nearest of his underlings by the shoulder and pushed the poor man roughly towards the largest structure in the city. "Go get Wuunerth and Jorlief up quickly!"

The guard ran off sending flurries of snow and melt water out behind him.

"As for the rest of you," the large man rounded on the crowd, "Citizens get back to your homes and lock your doors. Guards, patrol the streets and track down the bastard that did this!"

A fast chaos of movement burst around Serana as the populous obeyed without protest, but Maesa was still in agony, the snow was still turning red.

She did not realise the bear of a man was beside her till she saw his hands reach out and under Maesa. "Easy woman" he grumbled as Serana jerked them both away, eliciting a yelp from Maesa. "We need to get her to the palace quickly. You can follow behind and try and keep pressure on that wound or you can stay here in the snow but Maesa's coming with me."

She had not time to be spiteful or angry, so Serana nodded grimly, reapplying her hold firmly despite a whimper from Maesa. The man swiftly hoisted the Imperial up into his arms and set off at a rolling pace for the palace of kings. Serana had to jog to keep up.

The guard he'd sent ahead was waiting by the impressive double doors and swiftly swung them open to admit their entry. They entered into a grand hall, with high vaulted ceiling and intricate wrought iron designs adorning the otherwise plain glass of many windows. Under better circumstances Serana might have been awestruck.

Now, there was little time and even less patience. A tired confused looking Nord stood at the end of a long table. He wearily looked them over. "Calder what in Talos' name…" When his bleary eyes found Maesa's pained face he paled. "Lady Maesa." He gaped for a few seconds, then he lurched to the side ushering them towards a shadowed alcove and a steep stretch of stone stairs.

"Take her to one of the guest rooms!" The suddenly alert Nord ordered, darting down another corridor. "I must go fetch my Lord."

Calder muttered a string of profanities but continued on, Serana, hands slick with Maesa's blood, still clamped around her shoulder.

They turned down many corridors before finally they burst into a grand bedroom, incomparable to the one the women had shared the previous night.

Rather than lay Maesa on the large bed, Calder laid her out on a long dining table. Before Serana could protest an elderly robed wizard sprang into the room spitting fire and fury.

"Get out of my way!" he snapped pushing them both aside, his hands already aglow with rosy coloured restoration magic. "If the damned woman insists on becoming the butcher's next victim she'll not do it on my watch." He finished in a mutter.

Maesa screamed and convulsed as the crudely formed magic forced its way into her torn flesh and pulled it back together.

Serana snatched forward, ready to flay the mage alive for his incompetence, but the bear Calder yanked her back by the shoulder. "He's a necromancer by trade." He explained as Serana struggled. "Healing isn't his usual fair but he'll save her life to be sure. His bedside manner is horse shit I'll admit."

If Calder was trying to lighten the mood, he was fighting a losing battle to Maesa's tearful cries. Though when Serana took a moment to look she saw tension in his muscled jaw, then she knew all too well the anguish forcing his humour. She guessed he was enjoying the scene about as much as she was.

"Why was I not informed immediately?" The shout came from the hallway.

Calder turned and pointedly moved to block the doorway with his bulk, just in time for the weary Nord from the hall and an entirely new man, finely dressed and presumably the 'Lord', to emerge before him.

Serana could only see glimpses of the men beyond the living mountain. The subservient one's face was turning bright red as the would be bouncer refused to move aside.

"Wuunerth doesn't need more bodies in the way." Calder said stoically.

Ignoring his servants protests the Lord, Serana assumed Ulfric, asked "How bad is she Calder?"

Serana wasn't quite sure of the emotion behind the Jarl's words, they were muddied.

Calder's were obvious in comparison, "Deep. She's luck her friend was there to get the bastard off her, doubt he would have stopped short of skinning her."

A pained cry from Maesa tore Serana's attention away from the men.

Wuunerth was finishing his hasty job, wiping swept from his wrinkled brow and stepping back for the blood soaked table. Serana darted forward, dodging past the mage.

Maesa was panting hard, her eyes were slackly closed, her brow glistened. Peering at the shoulder Serana saw the poorly mended fissure. It had stopped bleeding and much of the inner working of the muscle seemed correctly attached, but the upper flesh was a mess. She wold have a horrific scar.

"Woman!" Wuunerth barked. It took Serana a moment to realise he meant her. "Get her a pillow from the bed, poor wretch might as well sleep a scrap of it off whilst you clean her up."

Without thinking Serana complied.

Calder stepped aside from the door and finally admitted the two men into the room.

"She'll be delirious and unfit for politics, so hold off on the posturing. "The boisterous wizard ordered his Jarl as he headed out. "But she'll recover. It'll take a few weeks, but she'll live or I'll raise her myself." With the final threat looming over them the bizarre mage left.

Serana threaded her fingers through Maesa's dark hair, lifting her head carefully to slip the pillow she'd retrieved underneath. Maesa mouthed a 'thankyou'. She lifted a pale hand sightlessly and Serana moved to obey at once, stepping round to her side and cradling the grip in her own, as preciously as she would a fine flower.

Ulfric stood on the opposite side and cleared his throat. Weakly Maesa shifted her head towards him and opened her eyes. "Your timing and manner of entrance is unexpected as always my lady." He murmured, a smirk, that immediately unnerved Serana, playing across his lips.

Maesa smiled back cooly. "I didn't plan to enter at all this time." Her voice was quiet and scratchy.

"I'll send some of the palace women up with hot water and clean clothes so they can bathe and dress you, then you can sleep and rest." The Jarl said smoothly already glancing at his underling to make his orders reality.

"Serana can help me wash," Maesa croaked, "but the warm water would be a blessing."

Ulfric's eyes clouded as he acknowledged her for the first time, turning his attention to the other woman in the room. "Will she be staying here as well?" he asked, outwardly nothing but polite, inwardly Serana felt ice in his eyes.

"Yes." Maesa said simply, attempting to nod her head only to cringe at the effort.

"As you wish." The guarded man said, sizing up Serana briefly before giving his consent to the hovering attendant at his elbow. "I will see you tomorrow when you are rested." He announced. Then he bowed, then he left taking Calder and Jorlief with him and closing the heavy wooden door.

Serana waited a few moments, holding her breath, unsure if they were truly gone. Finally, in a flood of emotion, she bent low resting her forehead on Maesa's stomach and let a few silent tears fall.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

I haven't in the last few chapters added an author's note at the end, but this time I felt compelled to write one.

With the release of the last few chapters I have received some truly wonderful reviews, the best I have ever received. In acknowledgement of the effort and care taken in writing these reviews I would like to sincerely thank all the reviewers and Hellespont in particular for their truly humbling comments.

I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far and continues to do so as our leading ladies find themselves in the Jarl of Windhelm's hospitality for a while.


	10. Chapter 10

Fingertips, smooth and dry, streamed in a sluggishly silken flow down her back, resting heavily with cool pressure along her spine. Serana raked in her silent sob, sucking in the air in a harsh gasp. Using the ruined sleeve of her shirt she scrubbed away her tears, pulling away from the haven of her flesh.

Glassy and glistening, her eyes slid open and shut, barely clinging onto her conscious thoughts. Serana could see the ebb and flow of her exhaustion roll out and in, a gentle tide that would soon sweep her into deep, dreamless sleep.

"My darling," Serana soothed, caressing Maesa's drawn face as she felt the woman's touch slip and become slack. "don't sleep just yet, you need to wash first."

Maesa peered up at her, heavy half-lids arced over a thin, soft smile. "I'll try." She promised. Her fingertips drew in a whispering meander to Serana's cheek, where the older woman's best efforts had not managed to completely dry the trail of her tears. "It's alright now Serana." She soothed, skimming her thumb across the damp ghost.

Serana took her hand and pulled the palm to lay her lips there, kissing the skin just long enough to leave a blush of tingling warmth, hidden where no one would see. She turned the woman's fingers inwards to cover her kiss. They would soon be interrupted by the servants, laden low with the bath Ulfric had demanded. She would not show weakness in front of the Jarl, she would not show him where he could hurt her.

She turned her efforts to humour. "That mage who tended you was a little lacking in his bedside manners." She smiled sourly, glancing at the sticky wound, now finally no longer flowing.

"Wuunerth means well." Maesa chuckled. It was a dry, rasping sound that made Serana cringe. "He's never been a man for Restoration."

"I can see that. But he saved you, therefore he can't be too bad." For his part in Maesa's survival, the man would never see a bared blade from her, Serana's resolution told her firmly.

A knock from the door alerted her. She gave Maesa's hand a final squeeze before parting from her briefly, walking across the room, and opening the small heavy door. Three servants, dressed well if plainly, stood there, the two men bearing between them a steaming metal tub. She stepped aside to allow them to carry the vessel into the room, only the occasional splosh of water freeing itself to splay across the smooth flagstones. The woman accompanying the two men bore a wicker hamper.

With the servants dismissed, and the door firmly closed and barred, Serana turned her attentions to the contents of the hamper. In several neatly folded layers, separated by crisp white linen, lay clothing and bathing supplies, bottles and tonics, along with two wash cloths. The Jarl seemed to have thought of everything, Serana worried, her nerves itching slightly with the realisation and planning that seemed to have been quite ready to set in motion.

She eased the suspicions from her mind. She had another task to attempt before she had time to think about such things. With that the sudden weight of the business before her reared up, baring its awkward teeth with smug spite.

"If I help you, can you sit?" She asked attentively of the still prone woman, walking back across to her, catching sight of the gash once more, its prominence pulsating.

Maesa glanced narrowly at it, wetting her lips and gritting her teeth. "I'm not sure. Let's try."

Serana bent low over her, catching a slight tremble in the younger woman as their bodies drew close. She snaked her hands around her, weaving her fingers around the tensed muscles and ridges of bone she could feel underneath. To hold her close, to embrace her… She could not afford to let her thoughts free for the moment.

With some reluctance Maesa hooked her uninjured arm up behind the older woman's neck, her fingers spread flat on the plain of her back, the warm pressure of the contact causing heat to soak into her bones.

"Are you ready?" Serana asked, her pale lips close to Maesa's ear, their cheeks brushing as lightly as unspun wool.

Maesa gave her accent, then with the greatest of care affordable to her, Serana began to lift. Her weight pulled at her muscles though Maesa did try to help, pushing off the table with her legs, but the blood loss had withered her. She could do little more than hang on and be held as the freshly blooded vampire eased her up. Tenderly, she slid her off the table, standing her against its supportive solidity, her grip shifting. She would not let her fall.

A sheen of sweat filmed Maesa's face. The pale pink swell of her lips parted a slither to take in deeper breaths. Serana immediately wished to stop. The rancid smell of the blood and gore reminded her they couldn't.

Instead she let the depleted woman lean against her, her frame slumped forward, neck resting over the arch of her shoulders. The undressing process was neither dignified nor arousing. There was a time and place to address such niceties, and that was stolen from them both for the moment by exhaustion and injury.

Once finished Serana encircled the now naked woman in her arms, wishing keenly for the warmth to hold her in comfort. "Can you walk?" she asked against the tight skin of her neck.

Maesa shook her head. She had run out of energy to talk.

Serana scooped up her weakening frame, more a construct of paper than bone now it seemed. Taking each step slowly, conscious always of the risk of further injury should her movements judder or shake, she carried her over to the haven of steam, the tendrils weaving around her toes and fingers as she was lowered.

"Stay awake my darling." She pleaded again as Maesa's head began to sway like a weighted pendulum on a rope.

She tried, only managing a limp twitch, mistakable for a small smile. "I'm so tired." She protested, her arm slinking down to lay in the water with a deep splosh. "I'm sorry."

This wasn't going to work, Serana realised. There was no chance she could hold Maesa steady and wash her if she continued to slip into sleep. Kneeling beside the basin, she reached to Maesa's jaw, catching the firm angle of it with her fingers, drawing her eyes towards her own, at once gaining the woman's entire remaining attention.

"Hold onto the edge of the tub," she ordered, pressing the instruction forward with the tips of her gaze. "just for a while my darling. Just whilst I change."

Maesa nodded languidly, her efforts focused on the curled lip of the metal vessel gripped, now tightly, beneath her whitening knuckles.

Serana stripped with haste, not caring, or at least not having time to care for her modesty. Once done she stepped into the steaming waters behind Maesa's curled frame and sat, drawing her back into her embrace, supporting her almost dead weight with her own body. "I'm here." She whispered as Maesa seemed reluctant to release her grip on the metal. Soothingly, she rubbed her hands up her arms, peeling away her surprisingly strong grip one finger at a time. "I'll always be here."

Maesa melted back into her embrace, her drowsiness ridding her waking mind of its scruples. Surrounded by the heat, both from the water, and from her precious mortal, Serana's heart stirred with cherry heat. The tongues of this new pyre licked and crept across her body, weaving around every rib, catching a small ember in every hair.

She washed Maesa. Blood trickled away, staining the water rosy-red. Behind it left skin, flesh, and hair, smelling sweetly of the soaps and lotions, perfumed with rings of supple scent, curling hypnotic into the senses. Serana washed herself at the same time. The water would be cold if she waited.

Cleansed of all crimes, the older took up the younger in a thick embrace. Towelling down the remnants of water. Shrouding the cooling body in a haven of snow linen, warmed soon by unnecessary embrace.

A servant was waiting beyond the door when Serana opened it, stooped, half-asleep himself on a low stool. Once roused he fetched one of his fellows and together they removed the dirtied water. They only dared pause once, eyes caught, mesmerised by Maesa's dark curls swept back, her head resting on the pillows of the large bed. Serana fixed their attentions with a glare and they hurried out.

Bolted and locked away, the world retreated again from their haven. Serana padded her way across to the bed, lowering the lanterns light to their smoky deaths, before climbing into the vacant side of the bed. The room was now cradled in long honeyed shadows, thick and glistening, cast by the low fire in the hearth. The moon was shrouded that night, its pale light lost, the sky outside dark.

She lay low in the folds of fur and cloth, letting her eyelids shut, contented to listen to the easing of calmed breaths as Maesa slept. Cautiously she reached out, her fingers creeping across the space between, pushing fabric aside till she could touch skin. She almost withdrew when she felt Maesa shift, another set of fingers seeking her own body out. They came to their rest encircling her wrist, laying lightly over her absent pulse.

When she peeked between her lashes she saw the hashed outline of her beautiful face beyond the tip of her nose.

"Sleep now my darling heart." Serana soothed lowly, whispering a caress, wishing it kiss Maesa sweetly into dreams. "I will see you when we wake."

Silently, softly, she finally slept. Surrendering to the tide that carried her off to distant shores. Serana would follow shortly. But first she wanted to savour the scene. Peace came so rarely.

* * *

"_Why did you want to help me?" Serana asked, sipping the pale wine between her red lips, tilting the ringing cup smoothly. _

_Beside her, nestled amongst pillows of silks coloured like a king's jewels, Maesa traced her veins with a listless finger. "You're lost my love." She explained, her nail grazing the sensitive skin. "I saw your eyes, streaming in the dim-light of the crypt, like a new born. And I could not raise my arrow." _

_Serana laid to rest her wine cup atop a low table, her crimson gown whispering as her touch found her lovers. "What of after?" She asked touching her lips to each of her fingers in turn, leaving only a blush behind her. _

"_You never stopped." Maesa continued laying back amongst her haven hoard. "Not when we reached your father. Not when you came back to me in Whiterun. Not even when you kissed me for the first time." _

_At the word the older woman obeyed, brushing her painted lips across the languished lady. _

"_I never wanted to leave you there, I hated it. Every step that took me from you that first time, it tore my soul." _

_Serana shushed her, lying beside her. "You had no choice my dear." She soothed. "Besides you have never left me since. You are my own. Not even that 'Lord' could take you from me." _

_Maesa surrendered to her as Serana lifted her lips to meet her mouth. Caught up and carried in the bliss of each other, the world beyond them crumbled into a dreary haze. All of colour, all of life, all of love could be found in each other's arms. They need want for nothing more. _

* * *

Serana looked out across the many dishes, steaming bowls of terracotta laden with hot porridge, swirls of honey breaking the pebbled surface. Swathes of cold meats, set out in fans of cooked flesh on a wide platter. Shining apples taken fresh from the palace stores. Small loaves still aglow with the ovens heat.

In the face of all these foods Serana had never felt less hungry in all her life. How were two people supposed to eat such a feast. Surely even the most glutinous of house guests could only manage half of what lay before her, even then at a great push.

Perhaps Ulfric meant to show off the bounties of his household and wider province. She drew away from the table, turning her attentions away from the food and out into the pale grey light of the early morning, the sky already dusted with thick, fluffy snowflakes.

She shouldn't bear unfounded prejudices against the man or his motivations. In her own mind she'd already labelled him the villain. Yet she'd barely heard him speak two words to her, and what's more her had freely given Maesa shelter in his palace for as long as she needed it. Her thoughts turned to all that Maesa had told her about Ulfric and her good graces soured a touch. Gracious host or not she would have to keep an eye on the lordling.

She sighed and leant her forehead against the icy glass, relishing its chill grimly. That said of course he would also be keeping a close eye on her. He, and all of his advisors, servants and possibly subjects. Maesa was something to be prized, loath as she was to call her that, it seemed most accurate. Serana was not naïve enough to miss the meaning of the 'alliance' the young woman had mentioned. If her father had taught her anything useful to dealings with the wider world it was that the best and most lasting form of power contract was marriage.

The word thundered around within her mind forming a dull ache as it echoed. Ulfric would seek to marry Maesa. Probably not to himself, more likely to one of his court, or relations. In this game the most powerful piece to be bartered was he himself. Maesa would have to wield something truly remarkable to tempt the 'future king' into wedded bliss.

She softly thumped her head against the moulded glass, closing her eyes tightly. A metal ring was anchored somewhere deep in her chest, too it was tethered a thick rope. With every syllable of the unspoken thought of Maesa being taken away the rope was pulled. It didn't hurt, the draw was not yet strong enough to rip and tear. Instead with every pull she staggered and stumbled. She knew if she tried to resist it it would grow stronger, and then she would begin to rip.

She lifted herself from the glass and stood straight. She padded her way across the room to the bed, her route meandering and hesitant though she knew she was being led every step.

She pulled her thin shawl around her shoulders tighter, not for the warmth that she could not feel, but the memory of the comfort it brought. She knelt beside the bed and watched its occupant. She was still asleep. Her eyelids fluttered.

A smile crept unbidden across Serana's lips. Maesa's hair was a mess. Curls and locks twisted and tumbled thickly, thrown to all angles during the night. She'd never woken before her, never seen her in her morning chaos, clothes twisted and rucked, hair unmanaged, limbs curled loosely in memory of infancy, tucked in the cradle of sleep.

Serana lay her fingers atop Maesa's, stretching them out across the linens beside where her cheek rested upon the pillows. The chill of her skin woke the younger woman slowly, Serana easing her along, brushing her thumb over the peaks of her knuckles.

Maesa blinked a few times slipping away from her dreams, her eyes falling upon Serana's face. She smiled, pushing herself a little high into the pillows. "Good morning." She breathed, the dregs of sleep making her just a little raspy.

"Good morning." Serana felt her lips reflect her smile. "How do you feel?"

The Imperial twisted her hand beneath Serana's and began to trace the pads of her fingers, pressing lightly into each one in turn. "So it really happened. All of it." She whispered. "It wasn't a dream."

How dearly she wished it was. "No my dear. None of it was."

Her eyes faltered in their calm gaze for a moment, the misty irises dilating. "None?" she questioned. "The murder. The Butcher. Wuunerth. Ulfric…" with good cause she did not finish her summary of the day's events, though it was clear from her troubled expression that her mind raced on.

Serana nodded, knowing immediately what she could not speak. There were many reasons not to mention it again. Beyond her own desires to erase the event, they were no longer among their own company. They were in the Jarl's palace. If anywhere was likely to be well monitored, it was here.

"Yes. Even that." She admitted her guilt aloud, though to the uniformed the subject of her confession would remain mysterious.

Maesa leant back into the bed, closing her eyes tightly for a long moment. A dry laugh escaped her in a short bark. "What a day to have lived through!" She exclaimed hushed.

Hidden beneath the pretext of her shoulder, Serana took the opportunity to reawaken one of the many layers of her concerns. "You're lucky to have lived through it at all." Her solemnity drew Maesa's gaze again, but before the woman could speak Serana cut her off.

"You could have died." She thrust the words forward, pressing with all her conviction the statement. "I will not let the subject rest till I have your assurances that you take your life more seriously than to simply dismiss that."

The stones beneath her bare legs were growing uncomfortably cold. She'd prefer to be sat upon the bed. She'd happily take up the chance to be within it again. Lying beside Maesa, holding such conversations in the patterns of pillow talk, savouring her warmth. Yet at this height, their heads level with one another, their eyes meeting neatly, was precisely where she needed to be.

Maesa had seldom portrayed anxiousness, Serana could recount only a few instances. She'd seemed to be able overwhelmingly to maintain a consistently calm approach. Even in the aftermath of Serana's attack. Now a small worry was rattling her nerve. Serana could see it there amongst the lines of her brow, her face trembling almost imperceptibly.

"You're talking to me as if I were a child." Unlike a child there was no bitterness or reproach, she only seemed sad. "Do I seem a child to you Serana?"

She considered herself. She considered Maesa. She was young for certain, for though she could not be certain of the length of her sleeping years, she knew she had at least a good century on her saviour. She could not dismiss, however, the greater importance of the ageless effects of her vampirism, and that it did not automatically reason wisdom.

Yet surely in experience she was her senior also. She had been a thinking, feeling, mistake-ridden adult for far more years than Maesa could ever hope to have as a mortal.

Yet she was _not_ a child. She was learning, developing, as all things both living and dead would, even in inaction the world was changing them by changing itself. Always changing, from day to day, impossibly different from all the yesterdays and tomorrows that would ever exist.

Maesa had enough wisdom, enough common sense to outstrip at least one of her parents, and they had been alive far and conscious far longer than she. That alone spoke volumes of her.

"No." Serana replied. She was aware that her pause had been a lengthy one. Surely it must have concerned Maesa that she had had to think so long of her. To ease her concerns, she decided to tell her exactly what she saw when she looked at the younger woman.

Her heart beat unnervingly in her chest with every syllable she spoke. "You are a woman Maesa. To me you are a beautiful, intelligent, impossible and world stoppingly fragile woman. I adore you. Which is why I must make you safe and aware of how unsafe you are around me." The last statement stung but she knew it to be an inconvenient, painful truth.

"What would you have me do Serana?" She asked. "Send you away? Would that prove to you that I had considered the threat you have on my life?" She didn't appear angry, exasperated, frustrated, but not angry, not with Serana at least. "What would sending you away achieve?"

"You'd be safe." Serana tried to hold the pleading from her voice, sensing that she was already fighting a losing battle. She needed to make her understand that her soul, endless as it might be, could not stand to hold her dying body again, she couldn't bare watching her eyes grow dim.

"And what about the next fish bone that lodges in my throat?" Maesa asked abruptly. "Or the next crocked flagstone? Or a hunters stray arrow? On the more dramatic narrative it could just as easily be a Thalmor agent, a dragon, or an assassin that ends my life!"

Her pitch had risen, her voice harsh. Perhaps now she was angry.

She took a breath, and continued on much calmer. "Absolute safety is an illusion we accommodate to ease us into slumber. It is a concept idealised, and impossible. Too much stands against a life well lived to be safe. If my wellbeing is your chief concern, I would be far poorer without you."

Serana took it back, perhaps it was just their views of what the world had shown.

"I won't convince you otherwise will I?" Serana asked, still clinging onto her own sense of moral uncertainty, if only to appease her conscience.

Maesa looked her squarely in the eye and spoke with the conviction of a martyr. "You will not."

"Then…" she replied taking in a long happily defeated lungfull of air "… you truly are infuriating."

This time she said it in better humour. She still meant it, after all she was deeply infuriating.

A wicked little smirk creased Maesa lips, slightly she goaded for a second that she had won. Aloud she said "No more that you." Echoing herself once again.

Saturated with growing fondness for her mortal, Serana rocked herself forward on her knees, reaching forward, and pressed a long, lingering kiss to Maesa's forehead.

"How is your shoulder?" She asked as she withdrew. "Have you tried moving yet?" She knew she hadn't.

Maesa's anticipation of the pain drew a tight, premature grimace, her eyes flitting down to the offending appendage a few times between seeking assurance of necessity from Serana. She shifted her lower arm out from beneath Serana's hand, and with a shaky hesitance, tried to lift it.

She got no further than a breath from the mattress before a sheen of fine sweat had soaked her brow and a bitten back whimper murmured from behind her clamped teeth.

"Damn it!" Maesa cursed softly, wiping aside her perspiration with her uninhibited hand. "Damn it all."

Serana gathered her shawl from her shoulders, folded it neatly into a point and began to dab lightly at Maesa's forehead and cheeks. "It's alright." She soothed. "It's only been a night. I didn't expect you to be capable of throwing a right hook at somebody." Her attempt at comedy solicited a short supressed chuckle and a half smile. Serana took it as a good sign. "Besides, Wuunerth's bedside manner could hardly be method for miracle cures."

This coaxed a full smile.

Then it faltered, and disappeared, in its place Serana saw Maesa stare, her eyes as round and full as the paler moon. Following the direction Serana's heart faltered.

The removal of her shawl had caused the light fabric of her nightdress to quite curiously slip aside, revealing beneath its snow white fabric the milky alabaster of her skin as it swept across the curve of her left shoulder.

It was only in the shade by shade comparison that the stark contrast of their skin became truly appreciated to the vampire. Only as Maesa reached up to it, her fingers curled into supple, tentative arcs, that her ivory was met with her pale rosy-gold.

Serana was frozen in place, the neat bundle of her shawl resting beside Maesa's head, clutched tightly in her hand. She dared not watch the tilting ascent of the fingers, their arduous climb through the thick, still air. She would know when they had reached their peak, she would know when Maesa touched her.

Instead she focused herself upon the anticipation of the moment and watched her mortals searching static expression. Paper dry, her breath came slow as her tongue grew large in her mouth, smothering all words. Then she felt it. The first prickle of unrequired explorative touch.

They traced pinpoint stars, those rosy-gold fingers, across her sensitive shoulder. Woven into the caress was a silent agreement, understood resolutely between their desires. In tandem, they knew and projected out that their nerves were fragile, their convictions strong but their bodies unsure, and that to speak, to give name and value to their actions was to shatter them both.

An agitated, terse tapping came from the door. Maesa's caress fell away like broken glass.

Serana vowed silently to kill whoever was beyond the door.

* * *

**_And hopefully if i've done my job right so should you all dear readers. _**

**_I hope you enjoy the chapter, and thank you to all reviewers who so aptly remind me to keep writing!_**


	11. Chapter 11

In truth the knocking was quite sedate. Yet as the thudding crossed the room to them, it pushed into Serana's mind like a blunted nail. She wanted to make them leave, to bar the door and stop all who would enter.

"Shall I let them in?" she asked twisting her words to softness despite her ire. She was not a child. Sometimes you simply couldn't lock the world out.

The line of Maesa's lips became thin and rigid as she considered the door.

Serana watched the shimmer of the room in her eyes, considering how the absence of colour made them a bizarre reflection, a glass filled with molten silver.

"We can't hide from them forever." The Imperial reasoned. Twisting her capable arm up behind her to clasp the sturdy head board, she pulled her body up the bank of pillows a little further, seeking to sit rather than lay. "Let them in." She sighed.

When Serana attempted to help her she was shooed away good humouredly, and instead she stood. The sweet chill of the morning air swept around her legs and across her bared shoulder. It didn't seem so bad, the cold, not when _she_ was there. Serana pulled her nightgown back to modesty and wrapped the woollen shawl back around her shoulders. Slowly, reluctantly, she dragged her feet to the door.

She opened it the breadth of her hand, pausing to peer out into the torch flame bathed hallway. A familiar tandem of flitting eyes quickly assessed the cut of her face through the gap, and a courteous little smile acknowledged her.

"Lady Serana," the servant from the previous night's chaos greeted her. It caused icy numb finger tips to trace Serana's neck, she hoped she hid her shiver well. "Is my Lady Maesa available to see me?"

She nodded. Servants it seemed had not changed during her slumber, always polite but always picking around the edges with precise scouting, looking for something useful.

She let the man, she had supposed the previous night was Jorlief, in and closed the door as the middling Nord made his way directly to the foot of the bed. He stopped beside it, near where Maesa's feet made little bumps in the covers, then bending almost low enough that his thinning grey hair tickled the floor, he greeted her with practised pomp.

"Good morning my Lady." He intoned happily. "How are you feeling today?"

"I am well Jorlief, if a little tired." Maesa's cordial manner returned as she spoke, she fitted smoothly into the lighter style. "Thank you for your assistance last night." She was smiling, but it was forced. The mask like quality of it all was so obvious and so familiar to the Nord, how unpleasantly it reminded her of home.

Silently Serana walked back across to the window and began to soak herself in the snow light. She'd forgotten what it was like to feel the purity of natural light. It seemed Maesa's blood negated its usual discomfort. Another curiosity to fix to her nature.

"That is good my Lady, but you give me far too much credit. Truly it was Calder, and your Lady Serana, who own the greatest share of our gratitude for your survival."

The second address of 'Lady' had a far duller effect. Seeking distance Serana began to trace snowflakes.

"Where is the Captain?" Maesa asked.

Flakes fluttered beyond the thick glass, distorted into stretched and squashed shimmers as they fell. It was a noticeable moment before anyone in the room spoke, and when the servant finally did Serana could hear the hesitance in Jorlief's voice, the anxious shuffle of his shifting feet. "He is… uh… predisposed my Lady. Official business I'm afraid. I shall send him up to visit you when he returns."

The old man was hiding something for certain. He was far too agitated, his façade was cracking, his words over spilling with good cheer. This was the second time a member of the city had so aptly avoided telling of where the Captain was. Did Calder have some distasteful hobby? Was he often engaged in cagy or unsightly business for the Jarl? Somehow the man Serana had met the night before did not really seem capable of stealth or subtlety.

Jorlief swiftly changed the topic. "My Lord would gladly appreciate the opportunity to visit you, my Lady. Are you feeling well enough to receive him?"

At the mention of Ulfric Serana turned back to the room, an immediate and sudden itch burning beneath the tight skin between her eyes.

From where she stood she could see naught but the back of Maesa's head, the dark locks sucking in all surrounding light. She had inclined it forwards a fraction. "I believe I will be quite recovered enough come this evening, if of course that suits my Lord." Tight politeness as always.

Jorlief's slick smile grew wide and he swept low again, dangerously low for a man of his developed years. "Excellent!" He exclaimed. "I will inform my Lord and have one of your dresses brought up for you."

"Thank you Jorlief, but might I ask you bring some clothing for Serana as well? I would be happy to reimburse the cost." Maesa's immediate concern on her behalf warmed the vampire, but her observations negated the heat.

"Of course my Lady. I will leave you to your breakfast now." The old Nord bowed himself out of the room and closed the door with well-practised ease.

Serana padded her way back over to the bed, her bare feet sticking ever so slightly to the icy floor. Maesa was staring at the door. Taken up in a curious frown, her brow's tilted slightly down, her eyes glinting in the mix of amber firelight and the reflection of the pale snow. More than anything, Serana wanted to ask about the dresses. Why did Maesa have dresses here? Was she such a frequent visitor that such things were standard fair?

As much as she wanted to, she could not bring herself to ask along such an intrusive line, laden so easily with suggestion and accusation. Instead she asked "Are you alright?" touching the younger woman's shoulder lightly.

She seemed to have forgotten Serana for a moment. When she was touched she looked up at her, quite utterly lost, searching for her name in her wandering gaze. Empty grief crept into the older woman, for a moment she was forgotten, for a moment no one on Nirn could see her. However, when she truly saw Serana, Maesa gave the sweetest of smiles.

"I'm alright."

Serana was unconvinced.

She worried, about many silly things. Also many important things. Chief amongst them now was of politics, and the effect that court politics was already having on Maesa. Of course she couldn't have refused the Jarl's visit. They were staying in his house, under his hospitality. Simple manners prevented them from all but the utmost curtesy, unless of course Ulfric made the first blunder.

Maesa was asking about breakfast. Serana missed the first few words, caught up in her thoughts, but she guessed them and soon followed her easily.

She pointed over to the long table, at the mountain of food. She was assured when Maesa let her decorum slip for a moment and gaped at the sight. "Foolish man and his posturing." She muttered. Awkwardly she began to pull the blankets and furs aside.

Serana moved to help her again, this time undeterred by her protests. "Do you think you can walk?" She asked, her hands accidently brushing Maesa's legs as she tucked the blankets back. "You lost so much blood yesterday."

Maesa shrugged, which swiftly turned into a half grimace as she began to try and move her legs. Being unable to put weight on her injured shoulder and the arm that descended from it, made her unsteady. Had Serana not been there to catch her, she would have fallen from the bed.

"Damn it!" she cursed quietly, her voice filled with bitterness and hurt.

The younger woman in her optimism had lent too far forward and now she found herself nestled in Serana's grip, one arm around her waist, whilst the other sort her hand, trying to lend some comfort.

"Sit down for a moment." Serana soothed, tilting her gently back so she once more rested on the bed. Maesa wouldn't like it, she knew as much in her gut, but there was no other way forwards. Serana would have to carry her. She kissed the back of Maesa's knuckles and gave her what she wished to be a reassuring smile. Then she rose and walked over to the long table.

She set a chair near the fireside where the warmth of the flame spilled out across the large room. She lavished the seat with cushions and set before it on the table a plate with all the cutlery Maesa would need. Then she walked back. The Imperial watching her curiously.

When she knelt before her again Serana found her withdrawn, a deep, shadowy sullenness having taken over her features. The Nord took up her hands from where they lay across her knees quite utterly despondent, and murmured "My dear, tell me what troubles you?"

Of course she knew very well. She knew its form, its smell, its taste. She was familiar with its weight most keenly. Her hope was, that by speaking its name she might just draw from Maesa some of its poison to die in the light of her incorruptible affection.

Maesa did not speak at first. She kept her head bowed and remained in that cowed position quite still.

Then her fingers began to twitch and flicker. The tips drew soft lines, brushing and tracing the creases that webbed Serana's hands, caressing the swell at the base of her palms, grazing her nails over veins at her wrists that pulsed now with Maesa's own blood.

"I'm not used to this," She confessed to an entranced Serana. "I'm not used to feeling this vulnerable."

The older woman's throat was dry, her nerves were dancing on a taught harp string. Yet she bent a little lower and peered up, attempting to capture Maesa's gaze. She snatched it up at once and held it firmly. "Let me take care of you," She pressed. "Let me show you the kindness and love you have already shown me."

Her light heart brought the glimmer back to Maesa's eyes. "Just don't go running from any dragons, or exploring any abandoned caves without me." She threatened on a whisper, an undeniable smirk touching the left corner of her lips. "As soon as I regain my magicka I'll get us out of this den of wolves and bears."

"We can leave here sooner if you wish," Serana offered hopefully, "I can keep us safe on the road and we can continue north." She knew even as she voiced her notion that it had no place in court politics.

"We cannot upset Ulfric. To leave too soon would prove dangerous for us both." She was starting to sound better, not cheerful or happy, but focused, her mind testing the bars of their temporary cage.

Serana's own mood sank a little at Ulfric's name. She needed to air her suspicions on his underlying motives, but perhaps now was not the best time. "Maybe we can stay in the city? At least we could get away from his court."

"Maybe," Maesa acknowledged her idea, but as of that moment had no real investment in it. "for now we must be careful and cautious."

Serana pushed aside her plotting. "First you must eat," she insisted, "Shall I carry you?"

Serana would have done so eventually, whether Maesa consented or not. She wouldn't soon get better if she didn't eat after all. A settled quality seemed to have taken over the Imperial though, and without much pause she gave a small nod.

The Nord's hands snaked slowly about the younger woman, drawing her into the circle of her body protectively. When she lifted her, she did so with ease, blooded as she was. She was careful to maintain balance, with her now one sided centre. Maesa wrapped her good arm around Serana's neck and let the other rest in the crook of her lap.

It was only a handful of steps to the chair. They were not so much entwined, the mortal woman's warmth more pressed against her, but never the less an intimacy bloomed between them. Never had Serana been quite this close to her whilst she was awake. She promised herself, as she let Maesa down onto the chair, withdrawing her arms yet lingering her touch hopeful at her shoulder blades, that this would not be the last intimacy between them. As she slipped away the air was already robbing her of the warmth Maesa always brought her. The younger woman stopped her.

She lifted her fingertips across her left cheek, tracing shivers along the pearlescent skin. With that light touch alone she drew her close, and tenderly, she pressed her lips to her other cheek, kissing there softly. "Thank you." She whispered against her.

A shaky sound escaped Serana, its identity a muddle between a sigh and a gasp. Somewhere in her chest, deep in the oily black silence, it rose from the dark waters, its surface blinking and spluttering, guttering sharp bursts of hot white light.

Immediately it pained her to bear it. She bit back an utterance. It ached and throbbed, an encompassing thick mass that smothered her. Then as she adjusted herself to its newly carved place, its heaviness, it felt more like a blanket. Then a knot was tied in that blanket. It stretched till it split, then it tied itself again. Rip, tie, rip, tie. Every time it got longer, until one end jolted out from her chest, striking into the beating heart of the one closest to her. There it anchored itself, and from there it would not move. She knew then that now, if they were parted, she would tear and be sundered apart. She knew then that she loved Maesa.


	12. Chapter 12

"I'm sorry to ask you Serana, but what happens when someone like you starves?" Maesa asked over the thin metal lip of her goblet.

The question, though innocently asked, immediately ruined the Nord's appetite. They'd been eating and chatting quite pleasantly up until that point. Her parents had never retaken up the habit of eating after their transformation, seeing the human need for food as a sign of weakness and beneath their new status. She had gone along with the notion but had found herself missing the firm, heavy consumption of solid substances. Food made her feel settled. Anchored to an almost mundane existence. A meal with Maesa had made her quite undeniably happy.

Now bile rose in her throat as she was reminded of blood. Its foul, slick slither as it cascaded from her slackened lips. That first time… she hadn't wanted to drink.

She saw the deeper reason for Maesa's enquiry, why she really wanted to know. The Imperial had done something dangerous to the illusion of peace they'd built up over the last hour. She'd started to think, and to question.

"It drives us feral." She stated, hiding neither the animalistic nature, nor the ugly reality of the addiction. "We become more beast than conscious being."

The only difference between a feral vampire and a rabid dog was a vampire didn't froth at the mouth, and a vampire did consume their own flesh. She decided to spare Maesa from that sickening imagery, besides, from the expression crossing her face it was quite clear to Serana she already had a good grasp of the seriousness of the condition.

"Would you help me over to the window please?" Maesa asked, her voice measured and calm, even though her brows were furrowed, and her mouth was set grimly in a thin line.

They were sat side by side, their backs to the steady flames in the fire place. Serana stood, and with two hands pulled Maesa's chair out from under the table. She wasn't sure she was ready to touch her again, but she really didn't have the time to decide for certain before she bent down and lifted her into her arms.

Having recovered some strength from their meal, Maesa was less inclined to lean so heavily into the vampire's support. She appeared eager to prove her own strength. "Hopefully I'll be able to manage a few steps by this afternoon." She said on a hopeful but frustrated sigh.

With Maesa the way she was, Serana could believe readily that the impossible woman could recover in a day. At least enough to walk. When everything was more settled she'd ask her at great depth about her Restorative abilities. In that moment however she simply carried her, as requested, over to the small windows, seating her atop the uncushioned surface of a low bench.

The Imperial twisted round to look out the window as Serana sat beside her. She was quite beautiful to the Nord in the cold sky's overcast light. An uncomfortable itching in the back of her thoughts drew Serana to the notion that Maesa's questioning was leading to something she wouldn't like. She'd begun to predict such grim tidings now, ahead of time.

It occurred to her that she'd requested to sit over here because it was the furthest they could be from the door. So she was going to talk more about the vampirism, and in such a way that might negate any careful choice of wording.

"Before you were locked in that tomb, how long did you usually wait between drinking blood?" Maesa asked seeming to watch something beyond the thick rippled glass.

"You saw my father's court." Serana replied. "Excess there is as poverty for a beggar." She couldn't prevent the whisperings of bitterness in her voice, she seemed to be becoming squeamish to those old habits. "We feasted every day, at least once a day."

"Every day?" Maesa repeated not really expecting an answer. "That would prove a problem. What about before? Have you always consumed so much?"

"Not always. Just before my mother locked me away, in that last decade as my father was becoming obsessed and unmanageable, mother and I only fed once every three days or so. We were nearly always in her garden, or studying necromantic tomes." They were not happy memories. They were distractions implemented by her mother, to shield her, and manage her impressions of her father. Everything with her mother was always a strategy with a goal, and a path so convoluted and twisted around often at times they took years to come to fruition. She wasn't sure she could recall a simple scenario with her mother.

"We just might be able to manage three days." Maesa said quietly, finally looking at her. "My things, our gear, did they get brought here?" Something like a plan was forming behind the glass of her eyes. A flame of energetic enthusiasm sparked under her methodical exterior.

The vampire narrowed her gaze. "What are you thinking of?" she asked, refusing to answer any further before she had some confirmation Maesa was not considering spilling her own blood.

In that strange way rarely witnessed, Maesa seemed to step ahead of Serana, and narrowed in on her fears with a huntsman's accuracy. "I'm not going to cause myself any injury, if that is what you're thinking." Then there was a hesitance that spoke volumes. "Not long term anyway."

Before Serana could lay flat her disillusions and distaste immediately for the largely unknown plan, Maesa continued.

"I have an artefact, in my pack, that will help us. It's called the White Phial. What matters is that it will regenerate any liquid placed within it, every twenty-four hours." She placed two fingers on the pulsing vein at her wrist, pressing lightly as she spoke. "I'm going to place my blood inside the phial, and you will have access to a supply, even if I happen to be elsewhere."

Serana had never heard of such a thing, it was utterly ridiculous. Such an item, if it did work as Maesa said, would be so sort after, so prized, there was no chance she would have been able to keep it hidden. Why would she even possess such an item? How had she come across it?

"Sounds like an impossible item." She declared, turning slightly from Maesa and leaning back against the icy wall and glass. She looked out across the room, settling once more into a familiar melancholy. If they could not find a way around her need for blood, Maesa's blood, what future could they hope to have.

"It will work." The Imperial pressed herself forward, her good hand clasping Serana's arm tightly. "Trust me, it will work. Where are our things?"

The fire roared quietly to itself in the hearth, and behind her head she could hear the wind whistling through the streets outside. Despondency crashed upon her lazily, and she could not find the strength to bat it back. She was so ready to surrender to the hopelessness of their situation, it was a familiar sensation to fall into its tepid ooze, let it numb her in a depressive hum.

Maesa said her name a few times, trying to illicit an answer out of her. Then pressing herself even closer, her lips at her ear she asked "Are you so eager to give up?"

For the second time in that morning a sharp rapping at the door interrupted the swirling thoughts and emotions that plagued Serana. Only this time the visitor did not wait to be admitted. In a flurry of robes, the crotchety old mage from the night before swept into the room.

He seemed in mid conversation with a cowering selection of servants who hung back in the corridor. "…I don't damn well care if Ysgramor himself is expected, I'm not going to let a poxy self-aggrandising piece of social horse shite ruin my good work!"

The mage stormed into the centre of the room, and in a moment of comical confusion searched room for them, his elderly eyes narrowing in on them only when Maesa whispered "Wuunferth always was a charmer."

"If you want to die of pneumonia that's fine by me, sitting near the bloody window." He advanced on them like an army sergeant, his booted feet stomping on the stones, his grey beard swinging like a pendulum. "I'm only interested in your shoulder for now."

He stood before them, blocking at once both women's view of the servants, so closely were they sat together. The old mage moved without hesitation one set of gnarled fingers tugging down the hem of Maesa's night shirt, revealing the puckered wound. The other four and their thumb yanked her arm out straight, stretching the tender muscles harshly. The cry was bitten back between Maesa's teeth, but in Serana it ricocheted like thunder in the mountains. She snatched forward and drove her finger nails into the liver spotted sagging flesh of the mages forearm.

"Get away from her!" She snarled.

Serana realised in a sickening moment that she'd bared her fangs. Her top lip had curled just enough to expose the glistening points. She knew that it had been noticed. Maesa had turned quite ashen. Wuunferth stared, initially taken aback. She could do nothing for several heartbeats, her mouth still open on the last syllable of her threat, fear encroaching in. She, this time, had shattered their peace.

"Milord?" One of the servants in the corridor called out hesitantly. "Should we bring the chest in?"

"Wuunferth…" Maesa began, softly enough that the servants had no chance of hearing, reaching out for the silent, starring man with a trembling hand.

The elderly mage silenced her with a bellow that reverberated out of his throat with all the power of a she-bear. "Am I to do your jobs too! Put the blasted thing over by the bed and clear the table for the love of the nine!" Though his bark had not lost its bite, his back to the servants, his features hidden, his expression betrayed his amazement, and his concern.

With a shuffle of nervous activity, a gaggle of five servants entered the room and began their work. A heavy looking chest was placed by the foot of the bed whilst the plates and dishes from breakfast were hurriedly stacked.

Wuunferth's position concealed the two women from most of the scamperer's curious glances. "This will need to be put in a sling." He declared loudly, retrieving from his sleeve just the right article, folded neatly into a tight bundle. "Do you know how to tie one woman?" he asked Serana.

"I…" She stuttered. There was no way he missed her idiocy, so why was he ignoring it. Perhaps, in an uncharacteristic show of concern for his underlings, he wished the servants out of harm's way, fearing she'd attack them if he announced her. Maybe he was calculating some other means of using this new knowledge to his advantage. Maybe, just maybe, he was trying to protect them from the servants.

Wuunferth gave a piteous sigh of resignation and declared irritably "I am surround by incompetence." He flexed his fingers once, lifting his thick steel-wool eye brows, flicking his sharp eyes between Serana and her clamped grip on his arm.

Uncertain, she released him slowly.

"Hold her hand up to her shoulder." He instructed, handing over Maesa's despondent arm to the vampire.

The Imperial nodded silently, worry clear in her expression. She whimpered mutely, touching her forehead to Serana's shoulder as the vampire obeyed.

"Good. Now watch the knots I tie…"

''''''''''''''''''''''''

The servants scurried out, straightening the sheets one last time and dusting the table top down as they passed. Wuunferth sat in a chair by the fire, a long stemmed polished pipe nestled in the bowl of his palm. He puffed the heady smoke out lazily, casting it around him in a grey cloud. He watched them, through his haze, considering them guardedly.

Maesa rested her hand upon Serana's lower back, quite hidden in view from the old man, but somehow Serana was certain he knew. They sat side by side, their defences stalwart in the face of this third who knew that token extra of what Serana was. Surges of both fear and pride coursed through her periodically as she came into the realisation that Maesa would stand with her, even in the face of her old friend.

"What do you plan to do?" Maesa asked quietly. A new woman, one Serana had not truly witnessed glimpsed out from behind her eyes, one older, shrewder and more cutting than she'd seen previously. Her presence unnerved her.

The mage took a long drag on the dried leaf in his pipe, letting another spread of smoke out in an eased stream. He scratched at the roots of his scraggly beard with the mouth piece, then picked an invisible hair from the cuff of his robe. "She's fed on you hasn't she." He stated calmly.

Serana stiffened.

"Yes." Maesa answered. "With my consent."

What a lie! The Nord woman hoped not to give away its nature, but she felt her expression move without her consent.

"And have you noticed a demeanour shift in either yourself or Serana since the act?"

Maesa frowned deeply. "No. Wuunferth what is this about?" She demanded. "I assume you are not going to inform Ulfric, so why are you prying? She has not enthralled me if that is what you are really asking."

She could not stop the words, and before she realised what she was doing Serana asked "You knew about enthrallment?"

"Of course." The Imperial shrugged off her surprise, seeking at once to draw attention from it and back to the mage. "I am of my own mind Wuunferth, you can see that as plainly as I can surely."

The old man began to stretch the muscles in his neck carefully, tilting his wrinkled head from one side to the other. His precise eyes sort out a detail on Maesa's face, something just below the surface. "You realise that with the murders and current tensions in the court Ulfric's been looking for a scape goat. Bringing a vampire into his palace, under his nose, is frankly idiotic. And what's worse becoming companionable with her, especially considering his current plans for you." He took another long drag of the pipe and let the silent warning hang between them, glistening in the air.

Yet again these plans. She had her theories but nothing conclusive. First Lydia and Jenessa, and now Wuunferth. She was tired of being left in the dark. Her frayed nerves made her caution wane and with little for thought she aired her growing ire. "What exactly does he plan for her?" Serana snapped, glaring at the mage.

She felt Maesa's hand at her back grip her night gown tightly, a tremble in her grasp pulling the fabric sporadically.

Wuunferth looked between the two women, a brief confusion passing before his eyes. Then he settled again and spoke matter-of-factly. "He wants to marry her to his cousin. If that fails, he'll seek to make her a private, but very public, mistress to one of his leading confidants."

Pale ice seeped over her bones, her fears now confirmed. Marriage and political manoeuvring was this Jarl's aim then. And Maesa was his supposed pawn.

"He's been trying to do just that for the last few months." Maesa said on the breath of a frustrated short sigh. "What makes now so different?"

"Leverage." Wuunferth answered, pointing the pipe directly at Serana. "If he gets a sniff that not only do you have a weakness he can exploit but that such a person exists under his very roof, he can make you dance to any tune he likes. When the bear smells blood, he'll go straight for your heart."

* * *

_So just a quick addition to my original release of this chapter. _

_I've just uploaded a picture to deviant art of Maesa and Serana to deviantart here: (Omit_all_brackets_for_the_link)__**miakitian.**(Fanfiction_net does not like links)**deviantart.**(which is kinda silly and annoying)**com/art/You-re-mine-605824134**_

_Anyway hope you all are enjoying yourself and the trials of these two characters. I always love reading reviews and comments so please drop one by and if your shy just send me a PM, the feedback is truly inspiring _

_ art/You-re-mine-605824134_


	13. Chapter 13

What had passed came slowly into Serana's mind. She had much to dwell upon and turn over in her thoughts. Wuunferth was happy to let himself out. He gave only a handful of choice parting glowers to them, stating emphatically that Maesa was playing a dangerous game.

They had nothing to fear from the mage himself. "I don't care what Ulfric gets up to. Just so long as he doesn't get in my way, or I in his, we manage to live peaceably under the same roof."

Maesa had extracted a firmer promise from him, securing his silence, and further that he'd find their things and get a servant to bring them up. He appeared to predict her plan with the phial when she briefly mentioned it, and concurred that it should work. Moments ago, he'd left.

"We need to leave as soon as possible."

Serana got the impression that, although Maesa had said the words aloud, they were far firmer of thought than voice. Her own mind had jusr finished setting straight the chaotic rush of the last hour.

Her impressions of the younger woman were in constant flux recently. She loved her, yet she didn't know her. There were details, little things a lover, or even a friend should know, silly, trvial, vital things. She longed to isolate them both in each other's soul company to better explore her love, to see if there was ground on which it could grow and flourish. Yet with the thought she felt such a swell of selfish guilt she knew she'd be miserable.

Then there was Ulfric.

It would be so easy to hate him. Her jealousies towards any who came close to Maesa guaranteed already the intensity such an emotional state would require. His shadow seemed ready to halt any advances the pair made. With self-aware tenacity the man swept in upon their intimate moments together. Yet he couldn't have orchestrated himself, or rather his staff, so well, and deep down in her most ordered of logic, Serana knew she was being foolish.

"How soon is _soon_?" The vampire asked, tenderly placing the hope that the span would be a short one.

Maesa leant back. They were still sat on the low bench, though now, after Wuunferth had dismissed the servants, they'd moved it closer to the fire and away from the frigid cold of the window. The Imperial slumped a little, resting the back of her neck on the hard curve of the carved wood. "It will still have to be a few days. I couldn't justify it being any sooner." Her eyes slipped shut, a tight determined grimace pulling her features. "Besides, I can't pull my bow with my arm like this. We can't travel until I can heal it."

"I'm sorry I can't help with that." Serana looked at the neat sling. It was pointless to wish she knew something of restoration, but its ludicrousy didn't stop her mind. There was no space for the school of healing in a cult of a Daedric Lord.

Maesa was breathing deeply and evenly beside her. In the soft glow of the winter sky and the tawny dappled firelight, Serana caught herself transfixed. For a moment she wondered whether she might have actually fallen asleep.

Then in a stiff, sudden movement her eyes snapped open.

"Maybe…" she whispered to the ceiling, her eyes picking a single sharp point in the air to focus in on with painful intensity.

Another idea. Serana shuddered with the unknown potency of it.

The younger woman was tasting her thoughts on the air, shaping the unspoken words carefully, her lips murmuring sounds that had yet to receive their forms. She was working furiously, calculating something just beyond Serana, treading paths and judging junctions in a flurry of mad mental activity.

When she at last spoke aloud to be heard again, Serana half jumped out of her senses.

"It will work!" Maesa declared, her head and engulfing gaze swinging to the other woman, her optimism and delight, alive and writhing behind her silver eyes. "I can ward against your magic, feed from your magicka! If we keep the charges under a certain level, then I can absorb your magicka just enough to speed up the recovery of my own power."

"Slow down." Serana ordered, recognising immediately there was as much danger in the plan as there was possible gain. Granted the theory behind it was sound in basic principle. Magicka could be transferred in such a way, it was hazardous if the levels of focus were not correctly aligned, but it could work. However, as brilliant as Maesa's mind was, she was overlooking one vital flaw.

"Blooded as I am, I have far more power than I had before. I could very well overpower any ward you might erect to stop me." She lay her thoughts out plainly for her. "Even the weakest of Destruction spells might cause your defence to become overwhelmed." In truth she was far more proficient in the school of conjuration. Unfortunately, there was no such spell she knew that she would be able to direct against Maesa's ward.

"You underestimate my own skills." The other woman answered her shortly. "Try, the weakest spell you can. If this works, we can leave far sooner. Free to do as we please once more."

It was so clearly a bribe. A devious and yet truthful little bribe. She was baiting her with her own desires. So did she know them? If she did, did she share them? Serana shifted round slightly, tucking one leg under herself, twisting round to fix the younger woman in a sharp stare.

As always her dear face was expertly passive, all emotion except for the one most useful to the situation absent. Her pleading, in conspiracy with Serana's own heart, were more temptation than she had stamina to resist. "Prepare your ward then." She muttered, lifting her right hand, already preparing the brakes on her power she would require.

Maesa nodded and in an instant there was a shimmer surrounding her. "I'm ready."

Serana took in a steadying breath. '_Divines don't let this go badly._' She prayed, as with the utmost care she allowed a small amount of her magicka to take form. In the heat of the room the ice forming on her palm began to mist. It fell as slow water through her fingers, sweeping out across their legs, before melting away into the air.

Her shimmering hand tentatively drew closer to her ice. With some hesitancy Maesa let the gap close, then there was the most glorious reaction.

Usually such skills were used in the heat of battle, where one could scarce turn to admire such intimate workings of transference. Calm, safe as they were, they were witness to something quite marvellous. It was only their fingertips that touched, lightly, each in their own way scared of doing damage to the other. From the contact there sprung a dance of fleeting, silver light. Sweeping in slight ribbons, speckled with pinpricks of blinding white that existed only for a heartbeat before dying away.

"Beautiful." Maesa breathed.

They kept the magic flowing for many minutes, and the lights continued their hypnotic display. When Maesa called for Serana to stop, it was with some obvious regret.

Serana stopped her magicka. She slipped her fingers forward to slide around Maesa's wrist, relishing in the fluttering of her nerves. "Did it work?" She asked eagerly. "Can you heal yourself?"

"Let me try." Concentrating, closing her pale eyes, Maesa called forth her restoration magic.

The vampire felt a slight trickle of the other woman's power tickle her hand, but the majority passed her by. Steadily a warm glow of power engulfed Maesa's shoulder. It remained longer than Serana expected. It pulsed brightly the entire time. Not until a fine sheen of sweat started to form on Maesa's forehead did Serana know she was pushing her power too far.

"Stop!" She demanded, gripping the woman's wrist tightly. When at first she received no reply, she tugged her, then she pulled her sharply, till, unbalanced, Maesa fell forwards, leaning heavily against Serana's chest.

The magic faded quickly, and Maesa began to breathe heavily.

"That was unnecessary." Serana scolded. She propped Maesa up, searching for her face amongst the mess of black ringlets.

She was pale, shaken, yet at her lips a smile spread widely. She lifted her injured arm carefully from its cradle. It appeared fully recovered. "It was perfectly necessary." She wheezed, beaming at her handiwork. "We'll be able to leave as soon as I've rested. Tomorrow perhaps."

It was a tantalising prize to dangle in front of her, and despite her concern Serana could not help but be happy.

They spent the remainder of the day quite happily indeed. Jorlief had brought up the clothing Maesa had requested. Sumptuous dresses made with the finest fabrics, trimmed with luxuriously soft furs and fine embroidery. They had dressed separately, making use of a tall screen Jorlief's staff had erected in the corner of the room. Their previous, unabashed intimacy had been shared under duress. Now, at least in the base sense, safer, they measured out each step carefully, seeking out a natural developing comfort and openness.

Maesa was adorned in a flowing garment of deep green, the blush of velvet hanging heavily from her hips. Serana helped her to braid her hair, tucking the ringlets up into a style her mother's serving ladies had favoured. Half bound, delicate yet structured enough to withstand at least a few hours of frivolous dancing.

She had selected a dress of red. Deep, wet crimson, sashed at the waist with rich black. Her mother would be proud. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she looked every inch a queen. When it came to the decision of her own hair, she let Maesa take the lead. The 'foreigner', as both Jenessa and Harkon had called her, was light and sparing with her adjustments, favouring less, and maintaining a natural, free tumble.

Wuunferth interrupted them in his own unique manner of loud and obtrusive entry, bringing with him a single quaking serving boy, laden low with their gear. He demanded to know almost at once how it came to be that Maesa was healed.

The young woman dealt with his fierce curiosities carefully, explaining every aspect of the transfer in exacting detail. The mage seemed begrudgingly impressed, yet reprimanded her for her lack of care and patience.

The child, having stood throughout the entire debate accidently dropped one of Maesa's daggers, the small blade falling to the floor with a cracking clatter.

Wuunferth flew in a rage at the boy, calling down all sorts of divine punishments for interrupting. The poor lad tried to hide himself behind his burden, shuffling and slumping with the shame Wuunferth ladled over him.

Serana watched the entire episode with a bemused little smirk. Highly entertained by the affair. Happy to see, for once, a purely harmless display of Maesa's concern and diplomacy as she shushed the elderly mage, and bid the boy place the things at the table.

Wuunferth dismissed himself, storming out, though Serana suspected it was mostly for show. Left alone with the two of them the boy seemed all the more terrified. He muttered all forms of apologies and self-deprecations, wringing his tiny hands constantly.

Maesa laughed at him affectionately, thinking aloud that he was quite sweet. She placed her scarred left hand on the crown of his little head with a mothers tenderness and tangled her fingers in his light juvenile curls. The boy froze for a moment, blushing deeply. She told him all manner of kind things, and instructed him not to pay mind to what the old mage had said. Then she took him to the door and bid him away with a kiss to his reddening cheek.

Serana was certain without much doubt that the boy's cheeks would still be warm when he reached his bed that night, and that their he would dream happy dreams of the sweet Lady defeating the haggard crooked mage. Or maybe it would be something more heated. It was always difficult to tell when boys lost that childhood innocence, and sweet ladies became distant paramores.

It was early evening when they started russeling. Scampering and scurrying, running to and fro, knocking every few minutes at their door, bearing platters of food, cleanly cut logs supicsiously uniform, fine wines and expensive furs. Their _King _was coming and they were laying out his carpet.

Serana was sickened by the groveling. It reminded her so much of her father's court. Everytime she saw one of the servants bow reverentially to them, she fought her own musles seeking to strike out. Maesa noticed her stirring resentments.

"You're certain you're not the type of woman to sit in her castle?" Teasing was not a foil Maesa had used previously in their discourses. The light inflection, the shimmering corner twist as she looked up to Serana. Using one of their first conversations against her, how wicked. They were stood by the fire, side by side, observing the servants as they entered and left. Their silhouettes casting long pulsating shadows.

Serana caught the fluttering in her chest. She liked this new angle. She liked being teased. She also could give just as well as she got. Smiling slyly, she edged herself closer, tilting in her dress, increasing by a wonderful inch, the pale swell of her chest. "Only if you were there with me, my darling." She said it with an air of casual banter, but paired with her smirking lips, the glimmer in her eyes, and the radiant blush on Maesa's cheeks, she knew her true meaning had been obvious.

At that exact moment a servant entered through the open doorway, and upon seeing the pair became utterly flustered. The poor man bowed once, stiffly, unable to draw his eyes from the pair, then he bowed again. When he'd stopped starred and bowed a third time Maesa took pity on him and kindly asked him what he'd come in for.

He couldn't remember. His discomfort was delicious, Serana savoured every drop of it. Keeping one eye on him she leant just a little closer and, pursing her lips, she pressed a kiss to the tight skin of Maesa's jaw line.

Maesa gave her a stern, bemused look. The servant bowed in severel more hurried little flurries before swiftly leaving, glancing between the pair in constant insect twitches.

As soon as the door closed Serana lay back her head and laughed deeply. "God's what a nervous man!" She exclaimed wiping premature shimmers of tears from her eyes. Maesa tried to affect a frown but her humour could not be hidden.

"You'll be the death of us both Serana." She prophesised. She suddenly lowered her voice, her eyes glinting wickedly. She touched her soft flesh inside her arm with her calloused fingertips and drew her close enough to inhale. "But two can play at this game."

Her acheingly soft lips were at Serana's neck. The closeness of her, the light formless brushing of her breath against her skin, the gentle heat of her chin as it nuzzled her. Serana gasped. She was dreaming. She must be. Day dreaming perhaps whilst the real Maesa moved seamlessly through the chaos of the servants. Yet in the theory of dreaming she knew it not to be a dream.

"Do you want to play this game?" Maesa whipsered against her, with every syllable her lips grazed her neck and Serana shuddered.

"It depends…" The other woman gave an involuntary pause and Maesa kissed her lightly again, lingering closely to hear her reply. "It depends what rules you want to play by."

Another servant walked in. A woman this time. She stopped starred, opening her mouth just a little, prepared to say something, caught now on whatever that might have been.

"I should really lock that door." Maesa murmured, cautious that the other woman would not hear her. Serana smiled despite herself, even as the press of Maesa's body left her and she was left with her churning emotions.

This was reckless, quite unlike Maesa. Had she shattered her mask of pleasant civility, did her first kiss do that? It was merely a peck; a haphazard little gesture she'd spent no more than a moment thinking out. Maybe, just maybe Maesa's feelings had been seeking her, waiting for _her_. Of all things ridiculous in such matters, this seemed almost sane.

This was reckless. How she so wanted to be reckless.

The serving woman had come to warn them of her Lord's imminent arrival. Had she not arrived before hand… Wuunferth was right, this was a dangerous game.

Level heads and quiet hearts were needed now, to survive unscathed the next few days. Ulfric must be appeased, true they may be able to fool him, but if he ever figured out that they had… well an angry bear might just be the more appealing enemy. Yet as she tilted her head, looking at Maesa and the dangerous glint still ghosting in her grey eyes, she felt weak in her own convictions.

Perhaps Maesa saw this within her, she may just have easily have seen something which was not there. Whichever, as the serving woman left, a cruel sheet of reason and temperance slid across her. The little spark of her teasing dimmed.

"Damn" She sighed lowly, settling back into herself, her weight and balance shifted to her back foot. "Not in company. Not in front of anyone. Not whilst where here at least." It was back, that diplomatic, tempered with logic tongue Maesa had previously so often slipped into. Now Serana heard something new. There beneath the layers of endearing sincerity was a terse impatience, and a frustration that bit tightly into every word.

Serana didn't think for a moment she could survive long on stolen kisses.

The corridor beyond was silent. The servants appeared to be lending them some form of respite from their scurrying's before the main event. An anti-climax began to yawn between them, despite their present closeness. It threatened the first fluttering of their feelings, the memory to become something colourless, poisoned by a poor conclusion.

The young Imperial woman brushed down her beautiful clothes, and tucked a straying dark curl behind her ear. "We need to talk soon." She said, glancing back at her. "We must."

"Yes." Serana agreed watching her hungrily, unseated by the suddenness and intensity of her replying actions. She could not stand it much longer. Not now that Maesa had begun to respond. She didn't care who this Ulfric Stormcloak was. If he threatened their happiness, she would teach the bear cub how a 'true daughter of Skyrim' fought battles.


	14. Chapter 14

The Bear King carried himself with an air of self-prophesised grandeur, a nobility that was so acutely familiar to Serana she felt a little ill. That declared and paraded pomposity was a robe she'd seen cloak her parents. As light as gossamer thread at first, malleable to their purpose. As the need for it grew, so did its weight, saturated by all those chattels who needed to believe the lie. Till it lay upon them, it's wearers now hostages, a leaden shroud.

And yet, as he exchanged formal greetings with Maesa, kissing first her right cheek then her left, stubble against soft skin, his smile radiated a brotherly warmth. At once she understood why men followed him, and why they might do so unto their own deaths. He was disarmingly charismatic, passionate to a fault, and confident in the way only a Nord could be.

When Maesa came to introducing Serana she found the full force of his personality pressed onto her, ice blues eyes taking her in meticulously, for the first time undistracted.

"Lady Serana." He gave a careful inclination of his naturally golden crown. "It's a pleasure to see Maesa in such compassionate company. Thank you for nursing her."

Dangerously polite, but she felt the bladed edge to his thanks. He was measuring her out, taking the point of his profound dichotomy between greetings and warning, to gauge the depths of her patience. She was, as of yet, unknown in her importance to him, and more, her importance to Maesa.

Serana resigned herself to a tactical silence, but gave a lowly curtsy, one such as her mother might demand had she instead stood before her, a reprimanded, disobedient daughter.

This meeting was meant to be held between _them_, she'd do her best to bleed into the background.

They all moved to sit at the fireside, the servants having moved adequate seating there to accommodate them before Ulfric had arrived. The two women sat on the long bench, hips pressed lightly one against the other, the blush of warmth touching and soothing Serana's nerves. The would-be king sat in one of the dining chairs, cushioned adequately and draped in plush, white wolf skins, directly opposite his most gracious and scrutinised guests.

"Serana is to stay with me, my Lord. No matter where our discussions might lead. I would have your assurance of this before we proceed." Illuminated by the quiet flames of the hearth, eyes bright, Maesa lay out her terms. Despite her initial efforts, it seemed that Serana could not become quite so anonymous as she would have liked.

"If you trust her enough to have no secrets from her, I will accept." Ulfric conceded without the hint of protest. His eyes chased over Serana once again, then he let his gaze, and the matter, rest on Maesa. A worrisomely swift concession from a man she had thus far gleamed to be quite unreasonable. He moved on to business. "You are fleeing Whiterun, are you not? And the Thalmor I understand? Is Elenwen moving against the city?"

There fluttered the gentle bounce of Maesa's ringlets, let free earlier by Serana's own hands, as she gave motion to her opinion. "The force was too small, and too loud for any move against the city." She assured the Bear King. "Whilst I admit we fled before the Thalmor arrived, all indications beforehand would suggest an individual was their target."

"The ambassador doesn't know? About your residence in the city I mean?" Ulfric asked, sitting a little further forward in his chair, though his hands remained stubbornly 'at rest' in their correct tenure on the padded arms.

"No." Her Imperial answered quickly. "She only associated me with another previous infraction. She doesn't know of my involvement with more recent events."

Serana might just have well left the room, for all the use of pseudonym terms was clearly in aid of her perpetuated confusion. Half-finished sentences, punctuated and accompanied by the habitual slick flicker to her own expression. Constantly at the task of measuring that importance, and the most saddening of the two gazes, the reassurance that she still knew nothing.

Still that secret haunted her. Here, between a conversation of subject and knowing party, she was _still_ not permitted to mark it. Ulfric knew! Divines that made it all the more galling.

They continued.

"Has your past come to light recently?" Always this man was questions. "Have you made yourself obvious to them? Elenwen has left you alone for most of your time in Skyrim, her hive must have been agitated in some way?" He took up a hand pointing the first finger and swirled it around the in the air, himself stirring the hive.

"You're still assuming the Thalmor were after me. We have no proof of that. They could have been hunting heretics."

Their debate rolled on to break against a shore Serana was no longer aware of. She was lost to her thoughts, swept out to the desperately lonely sea of her memories, where no one and nothing stood in judgement of her and her actions, but her own hindsight. The most destructive of companies to be at mercy to.

_The soured cream foam of the surf stuck to the shining cobble pebbles of the deserted beach. Not far behind, the black bones of the rotten jetty strained out into the broiling waters, an ancient finger pointing shame to its builder's, who slumbered, hidden beyond the coastal mist. Dusk was close at hand; colour should have soaked the sky. Yet everything was washed out, muted and grey. Chill breezes would soon blow in the rains._

_Up, from the dark divide of land and sea, a creature had emerged, not but an hour ago. Now there was no living thing within the scope of a natural eye, and the swaying little jetty may just as well have been straining to escape the blood that trickled down to it's planks._

_On this spit, that cast itself out into the Sea of Ghosts, a long time ago man thought it a fine place to repel his enemies. So a structure was erected. Cut stone piled high, casting long shadows over invader and friend alike. The first men fell, and the fort they left took to itself flag after flag, blaring colour and promise of permeance. All fell to time._

_Before the dusk had begun its approach an elven flag had swayed, its tail licking the topmost stone of the ramparts. It lay now in puddling blood, steaming in the collecting cold of the descending night, its golden standard stained. Beside the body, whose eyes were drawn and dropped back into the sockets, mouth slack and somehow fixed in the terror of its final scream, lay a wreath of parchment._

_A spidery hand filled each page, noting sightings, descriptions, theories and conspiracies. The document was fronted by a letter, set out in the same copiers hand, the language set it apart._

_**To all agents active within the province of Skyrim **_

_**The following person is of great importance to our operations. She must be found and brought to our embassy. No prolonged torture of the woman is to take place. No physical damage, maiming, or sexual abuses are to occur. I recommend a paralysing drug of some kind to be used, in order to ensure the safety of our operatives and the suspect.**_

_**She is an Imperial, of average height for those of her race. A sunned complexion, with dark hair, last known to be at shoulder length. Her eyes will be her tell, they are startlingly grey, and can be quite striking. She has a light Cyrodilic accent and is known to feign approachability when first encountered. **_

_**She is known to have some involvement in with the embassy incident. **_

_**A woman matching her description has been most recently seen around the city of Whiterun. **_

_**Any operative who successfully captures the target and brings her un damaged to me will be rewarded with an early return to the Summerset Isles and a generous parting pension from the Thalmor.**_

_**Any who cause the target unnecessary damage will be dealt with by myself most severely.**_

_**Ambassador Elenwen **_

_The dead could not bear witness to their attacker. It would be hours before their fates were known, and the creature from the sea would be far away. Ascending up the cliffs, where snow and ice scarred the same dark rocks that lay pebbled at the shore._

_Unnoticed surely. The elves who made the discovery that would rob them of sleep would spend crucial time licking their wounded souls. Not for the first, and not for the last time, did Serana underestimate the workings of the Thalmor._

_She saw her own hand in the spilt gush, her hand staining the documents which had led her on. With nothing but a memory of a face, and a manner, she had struck true luck in finding the trace of her saviour so quickly. The elves were not beings to her, they were obstacles. She was blooded, and earnest in her need to be amongst her company once more. No one stood chance within those walls._

_The tide of her clarity dragged her back from that lost shore, and she was once again isolated amongst the slow swells. Dark waters._

_Elenwen. Why now had that name arisen to haunt her, why bring the memory to the surface for her to face unclouded? Must it have been Maesa that was mentioned in the letters? It could have been another. The false comfort of this most obvious of fantasies, did so little to hide from her her clear part in the appearance of the Thalmor in the plains city. Always it had been her hand that had shaken the nest. Had she killed one, acted with a surgical precision she was usually master of, it would not have been so. Perhaps they would have ignored her goings, investigated briefly and slipped back into the shadows._

_No. She had taken the lives of every member of that outpost. Torn at throats, burnt out hearts, taken and smeared wastefully their blood across those ancient stones. Of course they had followed. They needed someone to punish._

"…the festival is an important part of our calendar Maesa, you must come."

Serana was eased back to her seat, her hip warmed by Maesa's, her mannerisms analysed by Ulfric. Their much-progressed conversation had led both parties, it seemed, to a manner of growing disagreement and frustration.

"It celebrates the burning of witches Ulfric. Part of the church's purge on the unsavoury worships." The young woman was determined to make the Bear King acknowledge her logic, pressing against his blatant unaffected ease, which seemed to be presented with no greater purpose than to rile her.

To this end Ulfric was succeeding brilliantly. "All festivals hold their origins in our unsavoury past." He reasoned, his initially tense posture once more at ease, now that he felt he had the upper hand. He pitied Maesa's scorn. "We must keep them alive so they can evolve past their origins."

An involuntary hiccup of bitter mirth escaped her, she did not attempt to hide it. "So noble a pursuit then. All to drink your stores half dry and consume grotesque amounts of food." So rarely had Serana seen the mask slip. Maesa was always so measured, so thoughtful in her interactions with others. She'd come to wonder whether riling her was a talent she alone possessed. Ulfric showed her otherwise.

"You make it sound like an undesirable evening." He smiled insufferably, shifting his weight to one side, propping his right foot on his left knee, and leaning his chin upon his fist. Why be present it seemed in an exchange he was so easily directing.

"You try to make it sound desirable. This more than anything shows your sloth." That appeared to do it.

In one accusation the Imperial reduced the Nord to a seething rage. The entire manner with which he was shifted before them. Muscles tensed, his back became erect, his eyes dark even in the steady illumination of the fire. At his pressed lips threats grew, only to be bitten down into grinding teeth, forced back by the vestige of Ulfric's ease.

"I want you there Maesa, and you will be."

Final fool threat. It tipped Serana into her own rage. She bristled, her hackles quivering, her lips ready to part and bear her teeth for this arrogant idiot's neck. Ready to take to her feet, shifting them to carry her to her full height, only to sweep down onto him.

Tersely a grip snared her wrist, keeping her down not by its strength, which she could effortlessly overcome. No. It halted her because Maesa had her fingers pressed to her unpulsing veins. She was for the moment stilled.

"I could just leave." Calmed, or at least feigning herself to be, Maesa glared at him. She was daring him. Every hold of her body, bar her restraint on Serana, echoed back his own ease. She was a bird he thought he'd caged, easy to keep confined, and in his avarice, he'd quite forgotten she could fly.

No effort could hide his tension, so uncarefully he abandoned it. He openly drew make his bearded mouth so that his teeth might show, shaping his lips into a terrible sneer. So here were the fangs of this would-be ruler. He denied her escape in three clipped beats of his sharp tongue.

"You could try."

A deep ache had hold of Serana's joints, though it was background sound to her furry. Still she was held, and had she her right mind she would see the benefit in remaining calm. To console her murderess thoughts she began to recite, living in her mind all the things she could do to this_ King_ should he ever lay his intentions upon Maesa. To a lesser or bloodier extent, this rebellion would need a new leader.

"Is that all you wished to discuss, my Lord." Maesa's knuckles had bleached on Serana's wrist, the flesh of her lower arm quivering from the intensity of her hold. She tried her best to keep her struggles from her voice.

Contented that his threat had found purchase, certain it would shape their minds, the Bear king stood. He spared a final glance to the vampire, her shaking fists, then bid them peace for the evening.


	15. Chapter 15

She hurled her weapon at the dark stones of the city wall. It arced swiftly through the air, losing none of its force till it struck its target. Where upon it splayed out in a rush, leaving naught but an artic bloom of glittering white. She bent low and scooped up another handful of snow, packing it tightly with her pale palms, before throwing it after its numerous forebears. A good section of the wall was now polka dotted with the remains, and her rage by now was near to running its course, her fury close to its low.

"Damiable Bastard!" She muttered, following up her preparation of yet another projectile, with a satisfying thud and flurry of escaping frosted confetti.

From nearby, seated on a low stone bench at a social but reasonably safe distance from the onslaught, Maesa considered Serana's developing artwork with a resting comfort, happy to be away from the palace. She, unlike her undead companion, was cherished amongst the warmest of furs, laden almost to the point of exhaustion with heavy cloaks and wraps. She wore both of their provisioned garments, for upon attempting to leave the palace by the main hall, a particularly plump servant of a most busying nature had taken it upon herself to insure their bodies against the night's chill.

Serana, of course needed no such consideration, but had had to politely accept the gesture, in fear of making a curiosity of herself. Once a safe distance away, settled as they now were in the most deserted of the districts, she'd happily surrendered her cloak, gloves and leg wraps to the warmth of her friend. They'd found peace in the sombre shades of the grave yard, tucked back against the far wall, protected from any breeze, and the gazes of any wandering citizen, by a large worn monument to a long-forgotten family of the city.

The Imperial woman, from amidst the cocoon with which she was laden, answered in reply to Serana's unconscious mutter "You may be more right than you realise. Rumours started to flow around the time of the rebellions conception that _he_ might well be an imposter. That _he_ used his would-be cousin's and uncle's deaths to seize power in the hold." She patted down her gathered skirts, which seemed to have suffered a light dusting from the floating powders of her companion's barrage. "Of course…" she admitted, tidying herself to a respectable level. "He denied it vehemently. He claimed it was all a conspiracy started by the empire and Ambassador Elenwen."

She made her attention appear to be held by the snow in her palms, but Serana's mind was taking careful note of details. That absent threat of a figure, _Elenwen_, reared her head yet again. Too many times now for it not to become concerning. And, judging from the letter she had read atop the battlements only a week before, she had the unhealthiest desire for Maesa's presence at the 'embassy', where ever that might be.

"It probably was." Maesa continued, quite oblivious to Serana's state of mind. "The Empire was desperate to undermine Ulfric before the true rebellion really got started. I never had either side truthfully confirm it to me, one way or the other." She frowned down at her dress, seeing something there she found she must ponder in the private confines of her silent mind. When again she spoke, it was with care and within the restriction of a hushed turn of tone. "So many players, all trying to outsmart the others. I wonder who's actually winning, and whether its someone, yet, unseen."

Another thump, sharply followed by another poof of frozen dust, echoed out from the wall. Serana sighed heavily, pressing her gathered icy fingers into her forehead. "Why are you mixed up in all this?" She asked of her palm and the woman beyond it. "Who are you to all these people?"

Privately she asked further, 'and why does Elenwen want you alive and… _undamaged_?'

A sombre resignation to her eternal ignorance had robbed her of any hope of being answered long before the thought of asking had entered her mind. Why would she answer now, when not an hour previously she had kept the facts of her hidden past so completely from her, with the aid of the subject of her still passionate hatred.

She did not expect an answer, and when it came she found herself so startled by the mere sound of her voice, she had to nervously ask her to say it again. She'd extended a hand towards the ground. There it remained now, frozen mid reach, suspended halfway between the starry sky and glittering snow. Her head swung slowly round, to look over the folds of the cloak on her shoulder, her nose pressed into the fabric. The scent of fur and fire filled her senses.

Disappointment hung over her. Part of her expected Maesa to be awash with humour, a chuckle and a smile on her lips. There was none.

"I am a Dragonborn."

The snow started to fall silently.

"You're a Dragonborn?" Serana repeated.

At once a thousand keys turned in a thousand locks. Pieces fitted together on paths of their own. Slotting one into another, steps along threads, a web of knowledge, now a tapestry too large and too grand for her to see the extents of.

A churning breath entered her lungs, it did little to settle her.

"The last one." Maesa added weakly. She hung her head.

Shame?

"Well," Serana began. She abandoned the snow and walked over to sit beside her. "It's certainly explained a few things."

Here at last Maesa chuckled. She was old in the sound. Far older than she had any right to be. "I suppose it does." She said to her clasped hands. "Sorry."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Expectations… come with that title. They're… hard to shake off." She was struggling to speak, as if her tongue had grown too large for her mouth, her words too thick. "I wanted you to see me. Not a prophesised vision."

There was no barrier anymore. This was Maesa, she was a heroic figure of legend, a god among men, a living legend. Serana lifted her hand from where it rested against the stone of the bench. She stretched the fingers out wide, then drew them tightly shut. She studied the creasing of her frozen skin. She found Maesa's hand, felt the bones of the knuckles, the shapes of the digits and palm, all through the protection of the gloves. No unnatural chill would reach her.

She didn't want the secrets to lay between them anymore.

"I didn't intercept a patrol."

The worry made her hand shake, she gripped Maesa's tighter to hide it. "After father banished you I decided to leave. It was all done in a night. I left the castle before he had chance to take the scroll from me. It was morning when I reached the shore, so I waited for nightfall, then I saw the fort. I remembered you stopped when you saw it. That you didn't want to be seen…"

An intake, sharp and sudden, punctuated the hesitance in Serana's narrative. Maesa's mind was working ahead of her words, she was guessing. "Serana." Her voice was dangerously quiet. "What did you… What happened?" Her question was blanched of any emotion besides fear.

It was time. Now was the moment to reveal the massacre, now that Maesa had shown she'd kept things from her. They could be equal in their deceit, if not their shame.

Killing, the act, the consequences. It had never held a great amount of sway over Serana. No one could remain attached to ideals in the face of hundreds of years a creature which required death to live. Circumstances, such as the death of someone near, that might just have swayed her out of her apathy.

Maesa's death had turned her to deities she'd abandoned centuries ago. She'd begged those she'd sworn herself against.

Until this moment she'd not felt shame over a death by her hand. Until this moment. With Maesa's eyes upon her, now it felt like murder.

"They're all dead." She dug her fingernails into her own palms, desperate for the pain in the absence of the cold. "They had this sheath of documents that described you, or at least I thought it was you. Notes, observations of your movements, and a letter asking for your arrest." She dared a glance at Maesa, only to find her looking to somewhere far away. A surging panic made her gasp out her explanations. "I had to find you! But I didn't know your name or where you came from. I knew nothing, I could have spent your lifetime tracking you down with no success. It was just a hunch, but I found you! Maesa? I'm sorry, I didn't know how to… I didn't think… I just needed to… needed…" Her excuses ran out and a stale silence overtook them.

No soul of the city had passed them by the entire hour of their occupancy of the graveyard. It was late. Most were in their beds. Where they would be if not for Serana's rage, that had dragged them clear of the palace. The snow fall felt fleeting, the flakes were small and wet, threatening to turn to a misty rain before ere long.

"Janessa was right." The Nord admitted, bitterly hanging her head, sullen. "I bought the Thalmor to your door. Everything that's happened is my fault."

"Don't be foolish Serana." Maesa replied quietly. "They already knew where I was, it was only a matter of time."

Serana looked up to Maesa, and found herself studied.

"Elenwen is hunting me. She's been at it for years now. She was the one to lead some of the purges against the Blades. She may have been the one to kill my father. I don't think she knows my heritage, but I didn't think she knew where I was. Her interest in me started the night I met her for the first-time face to face, without distraction."

There was so much more to tell, and Serana had dwindling rights to ask. Maesa seemed in mind to give details however. She continued without urging, to an enraptured, hopeful audience.

"I was tasked, by associates of a resistance group of sorts, the remnants of the Blades, to infiltrate the Thalmor embassy. I was to find out how much the Thalmor knew of dragon attacks which were just beginning to sweep the province. I was a fresh face to the region, our hopes were that I would go unnoticed by the ambassador, less likely to be ousted immediately. There was an evening of politicking to take place at the embassy. For Elenwen to talk to potential allies, and keep an eye on enemies who could not refuse her invitation. So, I was dressed finely, and sent under a false name to spy."

"How did she react to you?" Serana asked. The more detail Maesa gave, drew away from her own deeds. Perhaps she could bury them under this new exchange. Perhaps Maesa would forget them. The thought was idiotic before it even formed.

A mirthless chuckle shook her dark curls. "Well if she did see either of my parents, or my aunt within me she hid it. It may have been better if I was familiar to her, she might have easier forgotten about me." Maesa played with the hem of her sleeve with her gloved fingers, failing many times to capture the fabric. She drew down into herself, shuddering at her core. "I'd negotiated entering the 'party', found amongst the attendants some familiar faces. One who immediately made her concern known to me. Strongly. She's a loveable old crone, though you must never say I called her such. Idgrod would beat me severely and set her daughter after me, a fate worse than any punishment I assure you." The affection she spoke with made her radiant, if only for a brief time. Her haunted eyes returned as she proceeded. "After a while the party descended into small conspiracies, whispering about all the others from one alcove to the next. I was with Idgrod. Elenwen had been weaving her way through the assembly and finally made it to us. She greeted Idgrod with barely concealed hostility. She was gracious to me, paying me complements on my eyes."

'Striking'. That was the word Elenwen had used.

Serana's flesh crawled under her skin. Frost crackled down her spine.

"Idgrod began to exchange less veiled barbs with Elenwen, till the ambassador took me aside and…"

The hesitance gave fuel to all the worst outcomes Serana could imagine. She began to feel a familiar rage building. "What happened?" She asked, her own voice unfamiliar to her, hushed, brittle, each word said sharp.

"She said she found it strange that an Imperial had so much sway over a Jarl. Idrgod was and is, you see. She rules over Morthal. With the war raging, Elenwen said, it was bizarre I hadn't been released of my head. She told me she didn't know of my involvement with her guests, but that she'd be eager to find out later in private. She used language I don't wish to repeat. Suffice to say I was relieved when Idgrod rescued me."

That rage was building once more. Disgust rose with it, she felt as if something precious was slipping into a thick ichor, she with her hands trying to catch it's disappearing edge.

"She caused a ridiculous scene she enjoyed far too much." A smile slipped through the Imperial's dour demeanour, oblivious to Serana's internal struggles. Then the sweetness sank. "I managed to get away from the party, one of the servants, a woodelf called Malborn, helped me. I found the documents I needed in one of the studies deep in the heart of the building, though they only proved the Thalmor were as clueless as we were as to the Dragons. They had however heard of a Dragonborn emerging near Whiterun, and that 'he' was a burly, blonde, Nord with a beard down to his belly button, and an unhealthy obsession with war hammers. During my escape the Thalmor guards found me, and killed Malborn before I could stop them. They cut his throat. So I killed them, barring the door to a basement before more could come. It turned out to be their torturing rooms, racks and tethers, blades and barbs, all manner of wretched device for the extraction of false information. A prisoner, the only one still alive of the inmates there, showed me a hatch they threw the bodies down. As we descended I cast fire into that place and let it burn."

Anger left her heavy in its wake. It seemed her rage was spent for one day. Serana's head hummed, so much information now swam there, all to order and quantify. Maesa was… not what she'd first thought… she was so much, to so many, and in so many different ways. She understood now why Lydia and Janessa had been wary. Their dear friend had spat in the face of one of the most dangerous organisations in Skyrim.

To her mind there was a pressing issue, it was overriding all else in that moment, and filled her with such foreboding her words trembled. "Maesa?"

The younger woman looked to her and waited.

"Has this changed things between us? I mean, what happened earlier, what does this mean for our… for…" 'Us' was just that little bit too strong, it implied something understood mutually between them, a spoken understanding they were far from.

"I don't know why… but you compel me Serana." It began uncertain in all intent, but laced with a growing conviction to finish. "You lied to me. That is true. I can understand why. And, whilst I don't enjoy being lied to, I'm not going to turn from you for a misdemeanour that every man and mer on Nirn has committed. You murdered those guards at that fort. There must have, at least, been two score."

There had been many more but Serana said nothing.

"I have killed far more. Some would be called murder. The families of my victims have mourned no differently than those of the mer you killed. I don't enjoy killing, and neither do I enjoy the company of those who do." She hesitated for a heartbeat. "None of this is simple. I wouldn't trust it if it was. You are as you are. As am I. But we are also more. Richer, deeper beings beyond our titles, birth rights and races." She rested a hand on Serana's with a fathomless warmth and affection. "Whilst my head tumbles with moralities and warnings, it is not my head that I am solely ruled by. Serana a part of me wants to keep you. I cannot say what action might turn me away from you, but I can assure you, it is not this."

A sharp breath painfully scraped her lungs, gritted with a fierce jealously of all those who had known her longer. Who had known such… Serana could not think, even in her own mind, a word with an adequateness to express her heart, and she could wait to longer.

She crushed their bodies together, grasping Maesa to her in an embrace which she pushed her whole being into. It had been so long it may as well have been forever, since anyone had shown her such affection as this. Serana would weep and cry aloud but for the halting fear of distressing her.

She did not weep, but could not help the strength of her feelings from entering her voice as she spoke. "Maesa, for all the forgiveness you have shown me in our friendship I would be certain, were it not against every sense I possess, that you are nothing but a happy dream. You cannot always be sincere for no one could have within them such tenderness. Divines!" She exclaimed breathlessly. "Divines blessed me the beyond my worth when you came to my tomb."

Maesa shushed her gently, as she might a child, and with yet more tenderness held her close, stroking her black raven hair. A soft sort of smile lit her voice, and she said in a tone which denoted the most precious of open secrets. "You are worth blessing Serana. Never doubt that. In my eyes, you are worth everything."

Serana drew back slightly, just enough to find her gaze, her own eyes wet with unshed tears. It was a declaration, and even though love itself had been absent from the words, she though it enough to be getting started with.

"You're out awfully late this evening."

Both women looked about them until they found the stranger's whereabouts. Serana could have slapped him and much worse besides, in her frustrations, for she had been on the thought of moving closer once more to Maesa.

"It's dangerous for two young women to be wandering the street these days." The stranger stood beside the closest of the grave markers, the largest too, dedicated to a lost family of the city. It had been grand enough to hide them, but no more it seemed. The man, his silhouette at least indicated as such, leant with one gloved hand against her dark stone, his features lost to the poor night and continuing flurry.

"We are fine, thank you." Maesa nodded politely, her voice all curtesy, laced subtly with a clipped annoyance. Her arms slipped away from Serana's. "But it is late. Perhaps we should head back."

It had been late when they'd left the palace, that was long enough ago by now that it might be considered early.

"Yes, we should." Serana agreed. Maesa should be somewhere warm.

They both stood, ice crunching beneath their boots.

"Allow me to escort you back to your homes." The man stepped away from the grave, just enough that they would have to go out of their natural route to avoid walking into him.

"We will be alright." Maesa dusted down her skirts which had been gathering the falling flakes. "Thank you though sir." She gave a slight curtsy, more a bob of her head. She led Serana by the hand and began her way back to the main street.

The shadow of the man snapped out towards her. Dark, gloved fingers clamped around Maesa's wrist, and tugged violently.

Feral instinct threatened to overwhelm Serana in an instant. "Get your hands off her!" She snarled, seizing the man's arm and tossing it aside.

A scratch seared across the back of her hand. Realisation came at once that something was very wrong. The shallow mark began to throb, then burn, coursing under her skin and spreading out tiny tendrils of magma. She screamed, staggering back, falling from Maesa's hold. The skin on her hand was turning black around the slightest of cuts.

Crumpled in the snow, shaking with the onset of such vicious maladies, the stranger looked down on her with a smug glower. There was a slim blade in his free hand, no more than a kitchen blade. It's edge glistened with a slick black liquid.

A second blade cut through the air, its wicked edge clean until it cut deep into it's target.

The man clutched at the yawning slit in his neck. His blade slipped to the ground, abandoned, shortly followed by the unsuccessfully stemmed spray of blood. It streamed out from between the flaps, and his fingers, the muscles let loose by the wound, and pushed by the pressure, bulged. He screamed himself, though his was silent, a look of panicked fury setting in as he now starred accusingly at Maesa.

She stood over his curling form. With the heel of her boot she kicked into the tender joint of his ankle. There was a crunch and soft grinding, another scream, this one with a little noise, and the man fell completely into the pink snow like saturated parchment.

Her own agonies made Serana's eyes stream, yet through her tears she saw everything.

Maesa stood over him still, silently as he thrashed and flailed, failing to do the slightest thing to halt his approaching demise. Her grey glass eyes drifted from his hands, holding in his own throat, to his face and back again. She knelt in the staining snow, in her gloved hands lay the knife that had silenced his, small, unassuming, but with a blade of far longer reach. She gripped the handle firmly.

"You're the Butcher." She pronounced, clear, calm and as cold as the stars. "You murdered six women. You tried to kill me. Now you've hurt someone very dear to me. If you want the world to know your last thoughts speak them now. You will die soon. I could prevent it, but I will not."

Vapours rose from the hot blood as it reached the ice. The man's struggles were still strong enough to grab at Maesa. He succeeded at taking a fistful of her dress, and pulled her down close to him, at the expense of much of his own blood. Through trembling lips that spat, and a throat that gargled, he gave his last mortal words, livid, ferocity clenched between his teeth.

"Dvines curse you for looking like her, you bitch! I was close." He hiccupped a choke of blood, it slashed across Maesa's face. She didn't even flinch. He might have been trying to laugh, but it was impossible to tell. "She'll be waiting for you. She'll kill you." A change came over the dying man's face, a stillness. His eyes then rolled to an obsolete angle, his lips stopped quivering, and just when he seemed to have died a whispery rasp snaked out.

"_You'll scream for me, when I have you you'll scream for me again and again. I'll have you again and again. I'll tear you open. My body will make you bleed." _

Maesa slid her blade into the abandoned wound. She dragged it through the windpipe, sawing through the thicket of muscle. The words stopped. The body fell entirely still.

Meanwhile, Serana clutched at herself, madly blindly. She bit back a scream into a whimper. Grasping at her hand, raking her nails across it, but she was unable to touch the pain. At her cry Maesa abandoned the corpse and retrieved the orphaned blade. She inspected it, gathering a little of the poison on her gloved finger. She sniffed it briefly, then tested it, rubbing the remains in slow circles between her fingers. The answer she sought came to her and she rushed to Serana's side, ripping off the contaminated glove on the way.

Serana openly wept. The pain was spreading fast. She felt her bones crack and splinter. Her brain sweat. Her veins pull taught, tearing the flesh around them.

Maesa's arm was around her shoulders, her hand pressing to her damp cheek, awkwardly palming it in hopes of offering some comfort. Serana pushed away Maesa's other hand, prickling with sunbursts of magic. She wanted it to stop, that was all. She was in agony. She was scared.

Fighting with her anxious limbs, battling to get to the source of the pain, Maesa began to plead with her failing consciousness. "I know my darling. I know it hurts, but please." She cooed, kissing her cheek over and over as she finally caught her and pressed magic to poison.

Drawing back the pestilence was not supposed to happen, it resisted her, it fought the action the entire way. It dug its thorns and tore all as it passed, clinging as Maesa pulled.

Screams came again and again, till her cries called the city watch, who gathered around them and the corpse. They didn't interfere. Maesa saw to it they wouldn't, not after the first time one tried to approach. Covered in gore, eyes alight with the lightning, her hands working the magic into impossible knots and tangles. They were frightened.

She didn't notice the moment the last drop left her body. Her senses were so overwhelmed she couldn't feel anything, but felt everything. The whole world was nought but background agony to the cascading black.


	16. Chapter 16

"_Do you want to know what I think?" Elenwen paced around the rack. In her wake her dark robes swayed pendulum like, back and forth, with every measured step. _

_The metal restraints bit into her wrists, raw, and seeping. She'd rubbed the skin down to a foul mess, oozing damp flesh that stung with every moment. "Leave her!" She begged. _

_She was ignored._

_Elenwen's steps took her to stand before the racked woman, she made sure they were both in sight of the one in chains. With a sly smirk, she retrieved a long carpenters nail from the little table beside the wrack. She held it so that all might see. _

_She pulled at the world to let her free, to stop time, blunt the desire to cause pain. Her bonds held her as they had always done. _

"_Why would I leave her, my dear lady?" The Thalmor asked. "What would be the point in you being here? Why would I have brought you here if it were to do nothing? No. I must follow through with intent or all this will have been pointless." She placed her hand upon the blood-stained belly of the limp woman on the rack. _

_She was strapped there by ankle and wrist with thick bands of leather, secured with strong buckles. She made no move to resist her restraints. She couldn't bear the strength required any longer. However, she did whimper at Elenwen's provocative touch, shrinking back from the coming blow. _

"_Please!" The manacled woman pleaded. "Please, don't."_

_Elenwen pushed the tip of the nail into the deep laceration under her right breast. _

_Maesa screamed, choking it as best she could to limit Elenwen's satisfaction._

* * *

Warmth pressed upon her, swaddling the length of her back in thick comfort, cradling her as she awoke from a nightmare.

In her ear, her breath close and damp against her skin, Maesa whispered. "It's alright. You're safe, I'm here." Her arms squeezed her a little tighter.

Through bleary waking eyes, Serana saw the familiar fireplace beyond the edge of their bed, the flames that danced there greeting her. She was back in their room, _they _were back. Her ribs ached as she heaved an indomitable sigh, filled with familiarity and the painful thoughts of her last waking memory. She buried the echoes of it deep, as she turned in Maesa's arms and faced her.

Weary bruises marked Maesa's eyes with crescent smudges, her skin was too pale. Through this she offered her support and cradled all Serana's fears with a smile. "The Butcher is dead. You were sick with the poison on his blade, but I have purged it from your system." She did not hide her weariness. "I am a little tired. The healing was complex, and I've overstretched myself, but I will be fine with sleep."

Shuffling forwards beneath the blankets and furs, feeling the mattress give a little beneath her, Serana drew Maesa closer. She was soft, and yielding. Serana breathed deeply, pressing her chin to her tanned shoulder. She kissed her there, saying nothing aloud but whispering silently into the hollow that she loved her.

"He was trying to resurrect his sister." Maesa said, lightly holding the back of Serana's head, relaxing into their embrace. "They found remains in his house. Many women… all different races. He was an Imperial. Apparently, I looked a little like his sister."

In the hearth the fire crackled, she could hear every breath and every heartbeat.

"He was a fool." Serana condemned the mad man. "It never would have worked. You can't bring back the dead. All those different races… It's so pointless."

A murmured yes answered her. "Wuunferth said the same. It may have in the end produced something, but it certainly wouldn't have been his sister."

Serana nuzzled her neck, breathing in deeply, too tired and too relieved to be cautious. She could hear Maesa's heartbeat there, all the stronger, she could feel the pulse of her body.

"We're leaving in the morning."

The muscles in her back pulled tight enough to pluck. Leaving the city would be a great relief, and yet… She drew herself back just enough to study Maesa's expression, though she was louthe to part even that small degree. Her face was clouded, on her brow she found disparity. Rather than ask aloud she touched her fingertips to the frown, tracing the creases lightly.

"It wouldn't be safe to remain here any longer." Maesa explained, the sharp furrows of her forehead creasing further. "Ulfric has tried to keep the watch quiet, to stop the spread of rumours, but the streets are already whispering. He won't be able to control the mob, no matter what he thinks."

"What mob?" The thoughts of more madmen and torches flickering on the snow pulsated in her mind.

For a moment, there was a deep sickening pity in Maesa's eyes, before she shifted, laying her head on the pillow, close enough that a shiver would make their noses touch. "The murderer was an Imperial who attacked, killed, then mutilated Nord women. Tongues will make it that he solely targeted Nords, that he may have even raped and tortured them beforehand. The zealots will want blood. An eye for an eye. A death for a death. The rest will follow, some out of choice, most out of fear. No Imperial will be safe in the city till they have a new enemy to stand against. If Ulfric tries to shield me they'll probably rise against him. Then the real trouble will begin."

So, they had to leave. They had to flee the city they had just helped, lest the people lynch Maesa.

Serana touched the soft skin inside her wrist, following the patterns of her veins, a blush of blue beneath the rosy peach. "I'd never let them hurt you." She promised.

Sleepily she seemed to follow the caress her eyes slipping over her own skin in the wake of Serana's, then Maesa's eyes drew wide. She reached out behind her, sitting up. Serana followed her, though her head span a little from the suddenness of the movement. "I almost forgot." The younger woman muttered, finding her target amongst the folds of her satchel that Serana know saw was slung over the corner of the bed.

Craning her neck to see what it was, Serana caught a glimpse of brilliantly white crystal, no larger than her palm, that seemed to glisten softly in their shadows. "The artefact you were talking about?" She guessed. The aforementioned White Phial itself.

"Yes." Maesa turned back to her, holding it delicately. "It's already been filled with my blood. Here, drink."

She handed it to Serana with great reverence and care. When she took it, the Nord almost dropped it, it was perversely warm. She clasped the tiny crystalline stopper awkwardly. As soon as it was released the odour of the blood struck her. She did not ask any further questions, the draw was too great. She pressed the lip of the vessel to her own and tipped it back.

It was blood. It tasted of blood, her blood. It filled her mouth as blood would, and it travelled deeper. It satisfied an itch she hadn't been tending, and pacified the need she'd already again ignored. It would work, and it was wonderful.

"Here." Maesa said smiling. She handed Serana a small leather pouch, with a clip so she might fix it to a belt. "Every day it will refill."

Carefully she stowed the slip of glass in the confines of the leather and placed it at the far edge of the bed, safely out of the way.

"Thankyou." She said, leaning across, kissing Maesa's cheek. She lingered there, pressing forward her joy, her affection, hoping Maesa could tell.

Maesa murmured a contented sigh. When Serana drew back she pulled her down into her arms, so they might lie together in the comfort of this bed for the last night.

"Come we should sleep." The Imperial said, pulling the blankets and furs up over them, reaching to tuck them snuggly around Serana.

She felt such longing her gut ached, the yearning tempered only by the proximity and warmth of her. Serana looked into her grey eyes as sleep soon drifted over them. "Can we talk tomorrow?" She whispered to the fading attention of her bed fellow. "I need so desperately to hear your answer."

Maesa offered her a dreamy smile as she slipped away into her much-needed sleep, clasping her hand and dragging it to rest over her heart.

* * *

Once a long time ago the king had walked across these stones in the morning. And by the evening, he was dead.

Serana chased the shadows of the snowflakes as they sank through the moonlight beyond the thick glass. The dead lived here. They tread through the thick dust leaving whispers of their passing. On the still air clung their chill.

A storm was brewing beyond the window pane, the wind was starting to awaken and stretch, yawning with a great pulsating howl, tossing the softly falling snow into sharp chaos.

She shifted her shoulders, resting her weight upon the other, hunching herself against the discomfort of the stone and resettling her gaze upon the stairs. Maesa should return soon. Then they'd leave.

The palace had been silent. They'd roused themselves from sleep before the stars faded, though it was impossible to precisely guess the hour, Serana guessed it was unsociably early. They could not just walk out. If the guards did not have orders from Ulfric to stop them, they might just take Windhelm justice into their own hands. Despite being sceptical of this, Serana had said nothing, after all she did not know these people, Maesa did.

She glanced down to the bundle beside her, Maesa's winter cloak wrapped around her satchel, daggers, sword and gloves. The thought had been they'd only weigh down her movements if she wore them in the palace, so here they sat. Serana nudged them absently with the side of her boot, feeling the pleasing spring to the contents, whilst shifting back to the stairs.

The kitchens were where Maesa had gone, to gather food and a few other supplies for their journey. Not enough to burden them. Just enough to sustain them if they did not reach the Nightgate Inn by night fall.

The presence of the phial at her hip reminded Serana she didn't really need food. The contents were all she required. Maesa's blood, once a day, for all eternity. It was warm because, in simple fashion, it had entered the phial warm. Maesa had explained she'd drawn the blood from a cut to her right finger, the third after her thumb. She'd done this whilst Serana had been sleeping, and healed it long before she'd awoken.

It felt like a promise, a precious gift. Permission to stay by her side, and the ability to do so.

Footsteps, coming quickly up the stairs. Serana stood, pressing herself into a tight alcove, tucking Maesa's bundle out of sight. No light filtered in as the steps drew closer, no torch, no clanking of armour or weapons. It was in all likelihood Maesa, but Serana had promised to be cautious so she remained still in her hiding spot, peaking carefully round the smooth corner of the stones.

A figure emerged in moments, movements casting searchingly along the length of the abandoned corner of the castle. There was little panic in the motions.

"Serana?" Came the whisper, reaching through the gloom. "Where are you?"

She relaxed her chest, letting out a tight long breath. "Here." She said, stepping out from the alcove, retrieving Maesa's bundle and passing it to her.

Maesa accepted it, rewarding her with a lingering caress as their hands met.

She went to work organising the contents, adding a few items to her satchel and donning the more cumbersome of her winter attire. Serana watched, following the quick dance of her tanned hands. "Did you get what you wanted?" She asked.

Maesa nodded, not looking up from her work. "Yes. The servants were all still in their bunks, no one saw me. I even managed to take this." She held up a small package for Serana to take.

It was small, barely larger than the hollow of her palm, wrapped in waxed paper and tied with rough hairy, string.

"Open it." The Imperial instructed, looking up briefly, a bemused smile curving her lips. "You'll like it I think."

Serana tugged at the knots that bound the little thing together and pulled back the paper. Inside lay a round golden globule. It stuck slightly to the paper, Serana had to peel it away, getting a little of the substance on her fingers. She pressed her fingers together and pulled them apart with greater difficulty.

Maesa stood, her cloak secured with her satchel slung across her shoulders beneath. She took one look at Serana's puzzled expression and did her best to supress her laughter. "Here." She said, plucking the object from the paper and holding it before Serana's mouth. With some small hesitance Serana parted her lips, allowing Maesa to push the little thing between her teeth. "Bite it." She instructed, and she did.

It was very sweet, the stickiness was honey, flaked with fragments of chipped nuts. At its core was some kind of cream. Maesa laughed, unable to hide it this time, left holding the other half of the treat. Serana devoured her half, feeling the sugar coat the inside of her mouth.

She looked to the second half. Awareness flooded into her all at once. Her heart seemed to hammer in her chest though it had been still for centuries, her throat tight. Tentatively she reached forwards, parting her lips again, this time her eyes only on Maesa.

She had stopped laughing, though a smile still remained. Slowly she stepped closer, keeping the sweet just a little way from Serana. "Is this our talk?" She asked quietly.

Heat rose from her, Serana could feel it in the slither of air between them. It drifted across her skin, and she shivered. She did not trust herself to speak, but she pressed her lips closer. She could see it, there in her eyes, that reflection of her own desires. She could see it, it was there. Closer. All for want of that little bit closer.

"We should really speak outside, don't you think?" Maesa said, her voice soft, slow and melodic to Serana's ears. She felt her other hand reach down to her waist, her tanned fingers touching the bound fabric at her stomach, tapping lightly on her belly, the rhythm echoing the ghost of her heart.

Something rattled the window. The wind, which had risen to a full gale. It broke the spell. Maesa's right hand retreated from Serana, her left popped the remainder of the sweet into her mouth. Their bodies stepped apart, and the corridor was cold once more.

"Nature calls us." The Imperial said, brushing past the stupefied Serana and heading for the inconsiderate glass.

The treat was no longer so welcome, Serana polished it off quickly, her mind whirring. 'What was that?' Her breath was still catching in her and try as she might she could not scold her heart into a regular pattern. At her belly, she could still feel the warm pressure of Maesa's drumming fingers.

"Damn!" Came the frustrated mutter from behind her, followed by the creaking of metal.

Her fingers quivering, body still thrumming, Serana turned to the window and to Maesa to see the former putting up considerable stubbornness to the latter.

She felt her eyes, Maesa lifted her gaze to Serana, and with a smile free of any distracting emotion she pleaded for her assistance. Obliging, she pressed her palm to the base and peak of the large window, her shoulder pressing against the younger woman's, and heaved the awkwardly stiff appendage free of its frame.

The frigid air rushed in to greet them as the window screeched, opening with the greatest and considerably loudest reluctance it could manage. It immediately made Maesa shiver, and although Serana could not feel its chill she sensed its potency as it scraped across her face.

With a gap large enough to climb through achieved, Maesa drew back a little, drawing Serana close and pointing to the roof below. "It buttresses up against the inner wall." She explained, tracing the peak with her now gloved finger. "No one bothers to guard the rear walls. Not unless they know an attack is coming. It's low enough this side to climb, and high enough the other that no one even considers it a viable exit to the palace."

Her breath was warm, distractingly comforting on Serana's cheek, but it could not allay all her fears. "How high exactly?" She pressed.

"About 8-foot." She proclaimed. "If we ease ourselves down carefully we should have no trouble."

Despite the wobbling unsteadiness of her feelings, Serana let out a dry huff, laughing at how simple Maesa tried to make the distance sound. The slate tiled roof swept away to their right, the outer lip softened by the dusting of white snow. The empty air beyond yawned, its expanse gaping. The flicker of torchlight illuminated the lines of the damp stones, picking out golden halos on the crisp frozen blanket that smothered the world.

"Are you sure this is the only way?" Serana asked, starring at the edge, the courtyard far below. The drop was fatal, far over 8 foot here, she didn't need to see it to feel its menace.

She felt Maesa frown, and follow her gaze. "Yes." She replied softly, considering the danger with a detached concern. "We'll have to take it slow." She stated, pulling back and bundling up her cloak under her arms.

With much ungraceful heaving and scampering they both managed to climb out of the window, their feet slanted uncomfortably beneath them, the deceptively sturdy surface already geared towards the drop. Maesa reached up, and with the very tips of her long fingers attempted to push the window closed.

They could hear the guards below, chattering and creaking in the twilight of their nightshift. Serana could catch only the odd word, though she could guess most of it was geared towards general complaint, the usual mutterings of tired souls at innocuous, monotonous toil.

The window would not budge. It was putting up the same stubborn resistance it had insisted upon before. Serana reached up to help, yet even with their combined efforts it moved painfully slowly.

Seemingly frustrated, Maesa gave the glass a sharp push. It had its desired effect. The window clicked shut against its frame, but the jolting movement she'd used threw off Maesa's precarious balance.

Acting before words formed in her mind, Serana wrapped an arm around her waist, and yanked them back towards the wall, her other hand seeking and finding purchase in a minuet crack in the masonry.

The force of the slide dragged against her shoulder, and she gritted her teeth as she felt the muscles stretch to their limits. The snow that had given way beneath Maesa's feet tumbled down, gathering in a small cloud that plummeted, disappearing over the edge of the roof.

They held their breaths, hearing the clump make a low thump as it came into contact with something below. There was shouting, a clamour rose up, though individual cries were lost to the howling wind that had risen in chorus.

"Thankyou." Maesa gasped in a whisper, pressed to Serana's chest. Her eyes glittered in the still present but fading moonlight.

Serana caught her breath, aware of the developing problem below them, but more aware of her. The solid warmth of her body, the cushion of her softer curves, the pattering of her fluttering anxious pants.

Oh, for the safety of a quiet place, with their things scattered about them. A hearth alight with the fragrant brushwood of the windy plains, an old table, marked by the scars of a full life, stacks of books, the pages yellowed and mottled. A bed, sturdy, laden low with blankets and furs, with one covering so scratchy it would be regularly thrown to the floor in the night. Their things, their place, their comforts and habits around them. A nest of memories, furnished by their love.

Maesa was tugging at her, having wriggled partially free of her hold, urging her to begin their ascent to the peak of the roof, and the wall beyond. Her eyes pleaded with her, compelling her to make careful haste.

The shouts below had subsided. There seemed to echo the tail end of laughter. Serana made no effort to ask why. There would be time later.

As they climbed, each footfall placed with the upmost care, Serana made herself a promise.

She'd make that place. Or she'd find it. That place of future memories.

Their ascent was blissfully smooth, and helping each other they climbed atop the inner wall. The walkway between the twin castellations was overflowing with snow, untouched in months of neglect, its glittering surface contaminated by their boot prints.

On the lip of the horizon the light was growing pale. Dawn would be upon them in a few hours.

Maesa moved on, tucking herself low to examine the best point to descend. She found it, and with a fleeting smile of assurance over her cloaked shoulder, sat and shimmied herself off the parapet. She landed with as much grace as anyone could manage under those circumstances and looked up to Serana, waving her down to follow her.

She stayed there, up high on the top of the wall, for a few moments longer, lifting her amber eyes to the horizon. The stars would be gone soon, the moon would bow to the sun, the day would start and Nirn would turn away from them.

She drew in a long breath, holding it forgotten heartbeat and letting it wash away from her. The light lapped at her skin, she let it bathe her, it's soft pale glow second only to moonlight. How long had it been since she'd watched the dawn, even if it was just for a stolen moment? Her eyelids fluttered closed and she saw that place behind her thoughts. She could count the stones of the hearth, pick out the scent of home on the air. The heat of the fire tickled her skin, then the softened air took the sensation away, and the dream faded.

"Our place." She whispered to the new day, her promise made whole by her voice, witnessed by the waking world. "Yours and mine."

* * *

His words were ringing in her ears.

"_You can't put a babe in her belly. That mucks up some guy's power, you make your back a target. Yours's and hers." _

It was freshly morning. The sun was lapping the peaks of the clustering mountains. Windhelm was below them, far below, shadows on their minds, but fading ones. The snow had stopped falling in the foothills. Occasionally the mountain breeze would pick up a light layer dust and send it eddying around them, but otherwise the day was clear, the sky a deep, fathomless blue.

Calder had soured her mood. The more-absent-than-not captain of the guard, who had leaned slacken against the grimy wall of a slum dwelling. Undressed to his waist, his thick arms crossed across his chest. He appeared to be waiting for them, unaware or unconcerned by the cold that was making Maesa shiver.

Serana watched her now, a dozen steps ahead of her, profile strong against the almost blinding clarity of the snow. She'd not heard. Calder would swap only a greeting and a tired urging for caution with her. He would say anything else till Maesa had left them, walking just beyond the point of earshot, then he'd turned on Serana.

"_She don't love you. Not yet. But she's willing to."_

He was cruel, unhindered by any form of acquaintance between them. No. He let her know exactly what he thought, he laid everything out in his thick accent, every word beating against her fragile confidence.

"_I don't have a problem with your sex. Don't get me wrong. I don't care who Maesa chooses to bed. Not unless they're gonna cause her more problems than she's got."_

She'd been trapped. Left alone with this stranger in the mire of the Grey Quarter, her feet in a squalid puddle of filthy slush, the air itself wretched. He'd stripped her down with one look. A look she was sure could see her nature through her skin.

"_You ain't normal. I can see that just about as well as I could see it on her. Heck I might be too late. She might be too close to you to see it. But you, you got options. Maesa? She won't go against her self, or you." _

Tossed around and battered by him. She was heavy with her thoughts.

"Serana?"

She looked up, finding her there, watching her.

Her cheeks were rosy from their long climb, a few strands of dark hair were pulled away from their bindings and now wavered in the gentle winds. She'd seemed lighter since they'd left the city. Her steps were free of the walls. Around her face were the traces of all the joys that the air left there. She was joyous with their freedom.

"Your wings are beautiful in the daylight." Serana breathed, caught up for a moment in the sight of her.

Maesa gave a dreamy chuckle, and spread her arms wide, turning her face up to the sky, and drank in the breeze.

'_No.' _Serana thought. _'No, Ulfric could never have caged this creature. But… should I?'_

Her dark thoughts descended again, and she was so laden with them she did not notice, had not for their entire ascent, that not once had the sunlight made her so much as flinch.

'_Serana.'_

She halted her ponderings, and looked about her sharply. It had come on the hiss of the air, on the crest of the whisper of the gathering currents. She'd heard it. It's afterglow.

She turned to Maesa, who had stopped again on the slope ahead of her, about to ask her if she'd heard it. The action was interrupted as a shock of compounded snow and ice hit her square in the chest. The shock of it was sharp and she staggered a step back, the remaining clumps falling from her lazily.

There was a glimmer. Despite the distance that now divided them, Serana could see it. There in the glistening of Maesa's eyes. Divines how potently dangerous it made her seem.

"We're alone on the mountain." She called, voice pregnant with laughter. "So we must talk then!" She had another projectile prepared in her hand, ready at her side. Her smile was the invitation.

'_Come.'_ It whispered. _'Join me on the mountain. Let us be free for a while. Let us be alone with ourselves, you, me, and the mountain.'_

The impact had driven all emotion from Serana, but with her laughter any anger she might have been nurturing fell away. She was practiced in this after all. She bent to gather some snow, keeping her eyes trained on Maesa the entire time. The walls of the city could attest to her prowess. She could feel the familiar bend to her body as she stood, readying her throw.

The mountain could not have believed, if it were capable, that these two who stood on its high slopes, stood not more than a mornings climb from the sight of their imprisonment. The wind saw, and wove between them, as they danced, gliding and ducking, their laughter filling the sky.

Soul to soul was souring, leaping up in the air, meeting there the longing look of the watcher. Tracing their paths, their skips and stumbles, holding both in her eyes. Always her watching eyes upon them, pale as the first light, swept with an eternity of tears.

No one could say, not watchers or women, what exactly caused the tumble. It may have been errant throw, or miss stepped dodge. Whichever it came to be that they found themselves both falling, colliding and wrapping one around the other till in a tangle they found each other amidst the snow.

They were breathless with laughter, outright giggles bubbling up inside them both in short bursts in the resting spaces between gasps. Serana rested her head back against the snow, smiling up blindly at the sky, its perfect blue. Maesa collapsed against her shaking with every bout of laughter.

"Divines!" She snatched the words from her labouring voice, tipping her chin up to look at Serana, mischievous grin still there, glimmering it the daylight. "It's so wonderful to be out of there."

She had only the happiness to agree. Her mind was buzzing with a gentle delight, their exertion swamping any other senses she possessed. Until she felt Maesa's fingers rest between her breasts. Then all labours were gone, and only the moment existed between them.

Her breath came shallow in her chest, from a place below where Maesa rested, where her fingers began to tap. A slow steady rhythm, a heartbeat, a gifted heartbeat.

Maesa lifted her frame a little way above her, resting her weight upon a hand planted in the snow till she could straddle Serana's hips. On the rhythm drummed, she kept it going. With eyes half lidded she looked down to her captive vampire, the phantom of the knowledge of her power over her playing somewhere beyond the sublime lustre of her gaze.

Wet from the snow, Maesa lifted her free hand to her lips, and with her teeth tugged it free of the glove that enclosed it. The garment fell away and was forgotten. Sweeping low Maesa's warm fingertips traced the line of Serana's jaw till they reached her neck. With a patter of trickling touches she moved the caress to weave into the strands of her hair, brushing her ear.

Had she the beat to quell Serana would have wished her heart to stop in that next breath. For in that crease of time, where the air felt still and the world drew silently in upon, then Maesa leaned down and kissed her.

She was helpless to the reactions of her body as the heat that flowed beneath every inch of Maesa skin seeped into her. She sunk deep into the motion of it, the slow draw and release of Maesa's lips. The playful passion there egged her on to sustain them, an edge to her daring Serana to break away.

That terrible night lingered briefly in her mind, the night she'd taken and destroyed. She remembered the madness that had inhabited her, that charged her body once she'd sated that terrible lust for blood.

This, in the heavy presence of their bodies, come together, brought by Maesa. This was a different fire, though it devoured her with far fiercer ferocity. She felt it burn. Deep within her the oils that clogged her burned. The dark waters fled. Maesa's fire chased it, leapt after it till it caught and engulfed the putrid swell.

She remembered. She remembered because she could feel it. She remembered all at once what it was to be human. For beneath her she felt the chill of the ice, the true deep, damp cold that clung to her skin. Above she felt the warmth from the sun, the kisses it left upon her cheeks.

Maesa drew away a fraction, her eyes still closed, a smile inhabiting her that called to the fore all that Serana had been fearing, it summoned her every doubt and laid it low, easing it down to rest in memory where it could steadily be forgotten.

Between their bodies her fingers stilled. But it didn't matter. Serana's heart took up the rhythm.


End file.
